


Drop a Heart. Break a Name.

by Khashana



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ASL, Aromantic Asexual Natasha Romanov, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Karen Page, Clint Barton Is Better at Giving Advice than Taking It, Clint Is a Good Bro, Daredevil Season 2 spoilers, Deaf Clint Barton, Depersonalization, Dissociation, Gratuitous Clint Barton, I'm using # to mean queerplatonic, Nat has depersonalization disorder, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Other, Overprotectiveness, POV Karen Page, POV Natasha Romanov, Protective Karen Page, Protective Natasha Romanov, Queerplatonic Relationships, Steve Is a Good Bro, They try to have a romance but it's the wrong idea, beware the canon, but just passing references, gal pals, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/Khashana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen Page gets run over in a coffee shop by Natalie Rushman and their lives will never be the same again. Not actually a coffee shop au. Queerplatonic relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natasha Plots

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This forces S2 of Daredevil; Black Widow Vol 1: The Finely Woven Thread; and post-AOU pre-Civil War Avengers together into one timeline. Good for them, at least two of those actually go together. There's also references to the Hawkeye comics but Clint gets to not have depression.  
> 2\. Scenes that were really important I literally transcribed. There's one from Daredevil and one from Black Widow, I think. I do not own them.  
> 3\. Title is from Sugar, We're Going Down by Fall Out Boy. It is on my playlist of songs for this pairing.  
> 4\. Love Scarlett but my Black Widow is [comics Widow and god she's the most gorgeous thing](http://honorable-martin.tumblr.com/post/128433812939/black-widow-by-phil-noto)  
> 5\. Dedicated to [willowoak_walker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoak_walker/pseuds/willowoak_walker) who's been my constant cheerleader despite not being in this fandom

Natasha flicked through the news reports. She’d had the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on the back of her radar for a while, but since the incident with Fisk, she’d decided that, speaking as a spy, not knowing anything about the newly-dubbed Daredevil was an unacceptable hole in her information.  
  
And the news reports were giving her nothing. Daredevil could fight in total darkness. No one had seen his face, even in his early days where it appeared he pulled a standard piece of fabric over his face. The new costume looked a lot thicker. So, could Daredevil see through things? X-ray vision? Heat vision? Cross-referencing his scant description with the dates and times from the papers and hospital records yielded no candidates. Neither did a search through the Index. His contact with civilians was also minimal. The newspaper office and police station maintained that information and criminals, more or less respectively, just turned up on the doorstep, and a little poking around revealed no evidence anyone there was hiding anything.  
  
Well, how about the informants? The newspaper hadn’t got _all_ its information from mysterious flash drives, had it?  
  
No, in fact, it had not. Marci Stahl, Franklin Nelson, and Karen Page had also been involved. A little more research, and Natasha found that Stahl and Nelson had attended law school together (and been in a sexual relationship for some time), and Page worked for Nelson’s law firm. Now, who was the epicenter of this mess, the most likely to be connected to Daredevil? Was this a case of Nelson pulling in multiple helpers, or a chain of events—Stahl getting help from Nelson, who roped in Page, or the other way around?  
  
“FRIDAY, run me three searches,” said Natasha to her phone. “Cross-reference ‘Daredevil’ with the names ‘Marci Stahl’, ‘Franklin Nelson’, and ‘Karen Page’.”  
  
“Sure thing, Agent Romanoff,” said FRIDAY. A minute later, she said, “No results found in text. Want to search facial recognition?”  
  
“You can do that?” asked Natasha, momentarily startled, then shook her head. “Yes, please.”  
  
“That’ll take a while, Agent,” said FRIDAY. “Want me to let you know when I’m done?”  
  
“Yes, thank you,” said Natasha.  
  
She was in the shower when her phone chimed.  
  
“Agent Romanoff, I’ve got those results for ya,” said FRIDAY’s voice. Natasha shut off the water and reached for a towel.  
  
“Show me.”  
  
FRIDAY showed her an image from a traffic camera, on a frame with Karen Page’s face clearly visible, and a black-robed figure that had to be Daredevil, talking to her.  
  
“Perfect, thank you, FRIDAY. Can I have everything you’ve got on Karen Page?”  
  
What would work best on Karen? Not intimidation, decided Natasha with faint approval. Not your-country-needs-you like she’d used on Banner, either. Karen appeared to have been with all of nobody for the last two years, which could either mean seduction would work like a charm or backfire spectacularly. She mentally crossed it off after coming up with a list of Karen’s lovers—no women.  
  
It was kind of nice, having the time to go through the information and ponder her options. Planning an op was like relaxation for Natasha.  
  
Standard power trip wouldn’t do, Karen didn’t have the kind of position anywhere in her life to give an Evil Villain Monologue TM as Clint liked to call them. (Natasha maintained that she usually read between the lines rather than being outright told what she wanted to know, and therefore it was a misnomer, but Clint remained firm.) But what about damsel in distress? Karen cared about people, about justice and innocence and guilt, it was obvious from her entire file. If Natasha could arrange to be rescued from some situation, she might be able to slip past Karen’s defenses.

  


Karen stepped into the coffee shop to grab a muffin. It was another one of those days where she hadn’t had the energy to fix breakfast before leaving for work, and thus had to buy it on the way. Only she didn’t get as far as the muffin. As she stepped through the door, a young, red-haired woman collided with her headlong, and burning hot coffee spilled down Karen’s front.  
  
“Ouch!” she hissed instinctively, and the red-haired woman burst into hysterical tears. “Hey, hey,” said Karen, grabbing a napkin from a nearby holder and blotting her blouse as she put her other hand on the woman’s shoulder and tried to look her in the eyes. “It’s okay, it’s just hot, please don’t. It’s okay, I swear.” She rubbed the woman’s shoulder comfortingly. Foggy and Matt could just wait.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” gasped the woman between sobs, and Karen guided her to a nearby table and chairs, keeping up the litany of soothing nonsense as the woman got ahold of herself again. “It’s not just the coffee, is it?” she said finally.  
  
“It’s—it’s been a long week,” sniffed the other. With a visible effort, she pulled herself together.  
  
"Let me buy you another coffee," said Karen decisively.  
  
"What? No, that's okay!"  
  
"Please. You look like you need it. Another of what Miss...?"  
  
"Rushman. Natalie Rushman."  
  
"What Ms. Rushman was having. And a white chocolate mocha for me." She passed over her card. The cashier put the order in, and Karen was left in silence with Natalie.  
  
"I'm Karen, Karen Page," she said, offering her hand. Natalie shook it with a watery smile. "Can I give you a ride somewhere? You looked like you were in a hurry."  
  
"Would you really? I think I've missed my bus."  
  
"Of course. Where are you headed?"  
  
Natalie gave her an address not far away, and Karen texted Foggy to let him know she'd be a little late.  
  
“So, do you want to talk about it?” she asked, handing over the new coffee.  
  
“Oh, no, there’s nothing,” said the woman, but her eyes swept the room--looking for danger? “I’m just being silly. Too sensitive, my husband says.”  
  
Karen tried to come up with something to say besides _he sounds like an asshole_. “That’s nonsense,” she said eventually. “If it’s important to you, it’s important.”  
  
Natalie gave her a watery smile.  
  
“Where were you headed before I diverted you?” asked Natalie, climbing into the car.  
  
“Work,” answered Karen. “I’m a secretary for a law firm. But don’t worry, the lawyers love me. They won’t get mad if I’m a little late.”  
  
Natalie looked at her, mouth opening slightly in a small o, and something like hope lit her eyes. “Lawyers,” she whispered under her breath. Karen turned to fully face her, surprised, only to see Natalie’s face shutter. She appeared to curl in on herself, a compact ball of woman centered around a coffee cup.  
  
“If you need legal help, just say the word,” Karen urged. “Matt and Foggy will make it work.”  
  
Natalie shook her head. “It's nothing." Seemingly to herself, she muttered, "I can’t just _leave_.” Karen’s worry increased fivefold. Unfortunately, she had arrived, and had no good reason to stall Natalie. She glanced around, hunting for inspiration, as Natalie climbed out of car, thanking her for the ride, and suddenly Karen realized just where she was.  
  
“You work for Stark Legal?”  
  
“Yeah. I deliver contracts, notarize. No hotshot lawyer like your friends.”  
  
“And they can’t help you?”  
  
Natalie actually let out a startled laugh before clapping her hand to her mouth. “Even if they could, _I’m_ not the lawyers’ favorite secretary.”  
  
Karen watched her go.

  


Natasha walked briskly through the building and exited through the back door. She fished keys from her purse and opened a nondescript sedan. Climbing inside, she activated the device sitting in the center console. It lit up, and a map appeared on the screen. A dot marking the transmitter she’d left in Karen’s car was moving out of the parking lot. Natasha pulled out and began tailing her. When Karen parked, Natasha did too, and discreetly followed her into the building and up to the office of Nelson & Murdock.  
  
The business next door was a realty. Natasha could work with that. She took a few seconds to gather a cover story, and stepped inside.  
  
It takes a special skill to hold a conversation at the same time as eavesdrop, but Natasha was a professional. The poor realtor, who had to try to sell a house to empty-headed Nat Richmond, was collateral damage.  
  
“Key, Karen!” a cheerful male voice called on the other side of the wall.  
  
“Hi, Karen,” added a more reserved male voice.  
  
“Hey guys,” answered Karen, and she sounded distracted. Good.  
  
A shuffling of papers and furniture.  
  
“Anything new?” Karen.  
  
“Nope, sorry.” Cheerful. “You’ll have to seek your entertainment in the leftover paperwork from the Tayward case.”  
  
Some more shuffling.  
  
“What’s up, Karen?” Reserved’s voice was gentle, not pushing.  
  
Karen side. Her voice came from further inside the office than before, nearer Reserved than Cheerful.  
  
“I met a woman in Kawfee Haus,” she began, and recapped their conversation. “She wouldn't consider legal help. But if I could convince her we could help...”  
  
“And you’re sure it’s not an illness in the family or something?” asked Reserved.  
  
“Matt, you didn’t see her face,” said Karen. Reserved was Murdock then, leaving Cheerful to be Nelson.  
  
"Well, no," said Murdock. Mild snickering.  
  
“She looked so hopeful for just a moment, like a dream come true, and then like she remembered it’s impossible,” explained Karen.  
  
"I'll check it out," promised Murdock. Karen thanked him. A moment later, Nelson spoke up in an undertone.  
  
"Check it out on the Internet like a respectable lawyer, or eavesdrop on her heartbeat?"  
  
Natasha blinked and repeated a question the realtor had answered earlier so she could tune him out completely.  
  
“Who said I had to choose?” said Murdock, and Nelson was silent. Natasha wrapped up her conversation with the frustrated realtor.  
  
Eavesdrop on her heartbeat?  
  
Could be hyperbole. But the implication that Murdock’s hearing was at least as good as hers or Steve’s, maybe better, was undeniable. Natasha went back to her car and drove herself back to the Avengers’ base, thinking it over.  
  
Entertaining the idea that Murdock could literally hear heartbeats, what followed?  
  
Air currents, the sounds of appliances, et cetera, could form a mental image of the environment similar to echolocation, which would mean she’d want to err on the side of not assuming there was anything Matt Murdock couldn’t do by virtue of his blindness.  
  
What to make of the fact that Karen had gone to Murdock instead of Nelson?  
  
Possibility: Karen was still set on trying to get legal help and had spoken to the first lawyer who’d asked.  
  
Possibility: Murdock knew Daredevil or had a way of contacting him that Karen didn’t. Possible, but peculiar, since Murdock’s name hadn’t turned up in her searching. That could be intentional, designed to hide tracks.  
  
Possibility: Murdock _was_ Daredevil. That would explain the records’ discrepancy; Murdock was working the Fisk case from the streets while the others had handled the public side of things. Also peculiar, but Natasha had resolved not to rule it out on Murdock’s blindness. The extra hearing could be just one of several serum-like enhancements, like hers.  
  
Well, the only way to be sure was to tail Murdock next. Natasha ate, changed into her jumpsuit, and triple checked that Natalie Rushman still had a nearby legal address (actually a SHIELD safehouse), in case Murdock did begin his ‘respectable lawyer’ act by Googling her. Around 3, in case Murdock went home early, she returned to the office for a stakeout, this time with Steve to watch the back door. An hour later, Page and Nelson left via the front door, but no Murdock. But barely ten minutes later, Steve said in her ear, “Nat, I think you’re gonna wanna see this.”  
  
She darted round to Steve’s side of the building, and he pointed upwards. A figure in black kicked shut the window to Nelson  & Murdock, having clearly just climbed out of it, and disappeared into a tree. He’d chosen well; the office window and tree weren’t lit by any of the streetlights, and she doubted Steve would have seen him without enhanced vision.  
  
THAT M? Steve signed to Nat.  
  
YES THINK  
  
NOW WHAT?  
  
YOU-AND-ME GO HOME HURRY MAN  
  
They piled back into the car. Steve unzipped his black hoodie to reveal the t-shirt underneath and donned a baseball cap and fake glasses before peeling out of the parking lot. Nat performed some contortions to get her skirt on and her side holsters off before replacing the top of her jumpsuit entirely with her blouse.  
  
“Do we think he can outrun a car?” asked Steve.  
  
“Not with how _recklessly_ you’re driving, Stan,” said Natasha with a feral grin. Steve smirked and stepped on the gas.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Rushman emerged from their car engaged in an idle conversation about the Yankees. Natalie unlocked the door and let them in, putting her purse and shoes away neatly. Steve kicked his off and made to sprawl on the couch. They didn’t have to wait very long before Steve cocked his head and signed,  
  
WINDOW OUTSIDE-IT M  
  
“He’s an embarrassment to the team,” said Natalie, and signed, YOU-YELL-AT-ME.  
  
“Speaking of embarrassments,” said Steve, leaning forward and fixing her with a look, “what was that stunt at the restaurant?”  
  
“What do you mean?” quavered Natalie, shrinking back in her chair.  
  
“Over the lemon cake,” said Steve. “You didn’t need to ask the waiter if it had nuts in it. I wouldn’t have offered it to you if it had nuts. Do you think I’d do that? Do you think I’m trying to kill you?”  
  
STAND, signed Natalie, and Steve did.  
  
The window crashed in, and Daredevil executed a beautiful forward roll through it, coming to a fighting stance. Natalie screamed and drew her knees up to her chin.  
  
“Are you Natalie Rushman?” asked Daredevil.  
  
“Yes,” she quavered.  
  
“And you. you’re Stan Rushman?”  
  
“Yes, who the hell are you?” demanded Steve, but Daredevil was shaking his head.  
  
“The truth.”  
  
“It is the truth!” said Steve. “I’m Stan Rushman, and this is my wife, Natalie.” Daredevil turned suddenly into a cartwheel, which turned into a series of impressive flips that ended up with him standing behind Steve and threatening a chokehold.  
  
“All lies,” hissed Daredevil. Then, more confusedly, “ _All_ lies.”  
  
Interesting. Daredevil could polygraph Steve, but not Natalie.  
  
“He’s Captain America, so I wouldn’t try that,” said Natasha, shedding Natalie as she stood up.  
  
“Is she telling the truth?” Daredevil asked Steve.  
  
“Yes. I’m not married to her, I’m running an op with her,” said Steve, presumably aware that Captain America threatening a woman looked even worse than a man with normal strength doing it.  
  
“Why the scene?” asked Daredevil, stepping back.  
  
“We wanted a chance to talk to you,” answered Natasha, coming to join Steve.  
  
“Well, I’m here. What do you want?” Daredevil crossed his arms.  
  
“I like knowing who the local vigilantes are,” said Nat. “Helps me plan.”  
  
Daredevil moved into a defensive stance, clearly ready to bolt. “I don’t care if it is Captain America asking. I’m not telling you who I am.”  
  
“I don’t need your name,” said Natasha casually. “But it would be good to have an idea of, say, just how good your hearing is. In case of alien invasion, you know. How far away can we shout and have you hear us?” Daredevil was quiet for a moment.  
  
“Captain America’s an Avenger, but who are you? How do I know you’re not going to turn around and sell that information?”  
  
“She’s the Black Widow,” said Steve at a nod from Natasha. Daredevil relaxed minutely.  
  
“I can hear your heartbeats,” he said after a minute. “The Captain is on edge, but the Widow is calm.” He paused again, but this time as though listening. “The refrigerator’s on, but nothing else is. I’m guessing you don’t actually live here. There are two girls walking further down the street arguing about whether one of them, Jessica, is being self-destructive. Your neighbors on the left are asleep and the ones on the right aren’t home. There’s a cat-sized animal just outside.”  
  
“So, definitely better than ours,” said Steve, looking to Natasha for confirmation.  
  
“That’s excellent,” she said. “Any other abilities? Super-healing? Super-agility? I’ve seen the videos.”  
  
That made Daredevil chuckle. “Nah, meditation and years of practice, respectively,” he said. “Smell, touch, and taste are also enhanced.”  
  
“Could you find a bomb by the smell of the explosive?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“That’s all very good to know,” said Natasha. “I don’t think we need to take up any more of your time.” Just as Daredevil reached the window, she added, “Have a good night, Mr. Murdock.”  
  
Daredevil about fell out of the window. “How do you know?” he demanded, hoisting himself back up. “Are you a telepath?”  
  
“No, Mr. Murdock, just a very, very good spy who was once a subject in trials trying to replicate the super soldier serum,” she answered. “No one else knows, or is likely to find out.”  
  
Murdock paused, nodded, and jumped out the window.  
  
“That was surprisingly honest of you,” commented Steve.  
  
“Sometimes, the best way to get what you want is to tell the truth,” replied Natasha somewhat cryptically.  
  
“Can cost you, though,” he answered, but let it go.


	2. Karen Turns Out to Be Interesting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were confused, HURRY MAN is Steve and Natasha's ASL shorthand for Rushman. Way faster than spelling it.

Steve was right, not that Natasha wanted to admit that out loud. Having nothing better to do the following day, she returned to the realtor and engaged the poor fellow in a new conversation.  
  
“Did you look into Natalie Rushman?” demanded Karen as soon as she arrived. Natalie was touched.  
  
“Yes, I did,” answered Murdock, “and Miss Rushman is going to be just fine.”  
  
“Thank you, Matt,” said Karen sincerely, and, from the sound, hugged him.  
  
“She’s a very interesting woman,” continued Matt. “If she ever wants, she should come visit.”  
  
Well, Natalie knew a comment aimed at her when she heard it. Leaving the realtor already near tears, she walked into Nelson & Murdock.  
  
“Well, speak of the devil!” said Karen. “Natalie Rushman, Foggy Nelson—”  
  
“Charmed.” Slightly heavyset, shoulder length hair, genuine smile--  
  
“—and Matt Murdock.” Dark hair, red-tinted glasses, and the kind of bashful attractiveness that tended to attract women in hordes, now visible without the mask--  
  
“We’ve met.”  
  
Karen blinked. “You have?”  
  
“Mr. Murdock helped me out with something yesterday,” said Natalie. “I was just at the realtor, and I saw I was next door to Nelson & Murdock, and I thought I’d drop in and say hello.”  
  
No actual lies, just the implied causality.  
  
“What a startling coincidence,” said Karen, brows raised. “Matt was just in the middle of a rather oddly worded suggestion that you do just that.”  
  
Natalie grinned at Karen. Sharp, this one. She wasn’t buying it.  
  
“Hey, do you have bat hearing or something?” asked Nelson. “Were you having some freaky conversation through the walls?”  
  
Surprisingly close to the mark. There wasn’t anyone of below average intelligence in this office, to be sure.  
  
“Mr. Nelson,” she said, voice teasing, “that’s classified.”  
  
Well, it _had_ been, before she’d dumped her own profile onto the internet with all the rest of SHIELD’s files.  
  
“I’d best be going now. Have a good afternoon, Karen, Mr. Nelson, Mr. Murdock.”  
  
“Drop by anytime. And call me Matt.”  
  
Natalie gave them a small smile and left.  
  
Before she got out of earshot, however, she heard Karen say,  
  
“That is NOT the woman I met yesterday.”  
  
Au contraire, thought Natalie, just a couple degrees’ shifted emotional state.  
  
“And you didn’t actually say what happened, you just said she’s going to be fine. Who is she? What did she say?”  
  
“I’m not sure who she is,” said Matt thoughtfully, “but I do know this, Karen. She’s one of the good guys.”  
  
Very intriguing.

  


“The gamble paid off,” Natasha reported to Steve as a courtesy. “Murdock’s keeping quiet about meeting us.”  
  
“That’s good,” said Steve. “Have you figured out how he knew I was lying, and not you?”  
  
“I wasn’t lying,” murmured Natasha, and slipped away from under Steve’s curious gaze.

  


Natasha won't say she thought that was the end of it, because Natasha doesn't make assumptions like that, but she also can't say she was expecting Daredevil to turn up at Avengers Base, panting and bloody, and gasp out, "I need a favor. "  
  
Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, ignoring the lack of effect it had. "What is it?" she decided on.  
  
"Karen's in danger. I can't protect her and go after the bastard at the same time."  
  
Natasha pretended to consider it. "I don't have anything better to do," she said.  
  
Daredevil rattled off an address and was gone in the next heartbeat.  
  
Natasha took the bike, because she could, and rang the bell for Karen's apartment.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She sounded nervous. She knew she was in danger, then.  
  
"It's Natalie Rushman," she answered. A beat. Clearly Karen wasn't sure if she was trustworthy. "Daredevil sent me," she added.  
  
"Daredevil sent you?" The door buzzed, and Natalie made her way inside and up the stairs. Karen opened the door, looking haggard and worn, and cut her off before she could speak. "What did Daredevil tell you?" she asked, not stepping back to let Natalie in.  
  
"That he wanted someone to stay with you since he couldn't,” Natalie replied.  
  
"Why?" She wasn't unaware of the danger, she was testing her. And, well, it did look a bit odd, didn't it?  
  
"Because I can protect you," said Natasha, allowing Natalie to fall away for a moment. "When even he can't."  
  
“I can take care of myself,” snapped Karen.  
  
“I have enhanced hearing,” offered Natasha. “Comes in handy when people try to sneak up on me. And I have a mean right hook.”  
  
“You can tell Daredevil he’s being creepy and where to stuff it,” Karen muttered, but she stood aside, and Natalie walked in. Natasha scanned the room automatically.  
  
"What has he told you about me?"  
  
"Nothing except you were in danger."  
  
Karen nodded slowly. "Well. You must really be something." She gestured around. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"A cup of tea, if you have it?" Karen nodded and moved to the kitchen. Natasha followed, cataloging possible entrances as she went. The request was twofold. Karen wouldn't notice her scrutiny, and she would be more inclined to make one for herself, which would calm her.  
  
"Black or green?"  
  
"Anything herbal," Natalie replied as Natasha catalogued possible weapons. She'd brought plenty of her own, of course, but it was only basic planning to work out what Karen might use, what might be used against them, and what last-ditch efforts she could make.  
  
Karen handed her the tea. She had, in fact, made one for herself.  
  
"Now what, we wait to be attacked?” she asked bitterly.  
  
"Not unless you want to,” said Natalie. "We can swap makeup tips, complain about men, play board games, read. Whatever you want."  
  
“What I _want_ is to fight for myself, not sit around with Daredevil and you hovering while I wait for the gunmen to show up.”  
  
“Can you think of a better tactical arrangement? Daredevil’s the bulletproof one, he’s going after the guys with guns. I can hear a gunman coming, I’m here with you.”  
  
“Fine,” grumbled Karen.  
  
“What else do you want to do, besides get into dangerous situations?”  
  
Karen got an expression on her face that looked like plotting. "Ever finished a game of Monopoly?" she asked.  
  
"No," answered Natalie.  
  
"Well then. Let's play Monopoly."  
  
Natasha suspected that Karen was feeling peevish about her babysitter, but she said nothing. As the hours passed, they actually got into the game. Natalie cheered when she got her first monopoly, and Karen ranted at her when she landed on Park Place, which had two of Natalie’s hotels on it. And in between, they talked. Stupid stuff--how much Karen hated Gone with the Wind and Natalie never having read Harry Potter. Karen described how Foggy narrated movies for Matt and Natasha found herself recounting some of her efforts to help Steve with his List. He was just 'a friend' now, and Natasha grated at the inconsistency, but she didn't need to get Karen back on her guard by bringing up her supposedly abusive husband. Around 1 am, Karen started to yawn.  
  
"You want to call it a night?" asked Natalie gently. "You can sleep. I'll keep watch."  
  
"No, we said we're finishing it, so let's finish it." Karen glared. It was adorable.  
  
"All right," said Natalie, putting her hands in the air. "Just a suggestion." Karen rolled the dice and moved her top hat.  
  
Two hours and some change later, a knocking came from the _window_. Natasha rose onto the balls of her feet, ready to attack, but Karen seemed beyond the point of surprise.  
  
“Who the fuck is that,” she said with the exhaustion of someone who has been awaiting their own murder. Natasha put herself between Karen and the window until she saw Daredevil outside it.  
  
“Let me in, Ms. Rushman?” said Matt Murdock, and she opened the window for him.  
  
“Situation report?”  
  
“No luck,” he sighed. “It was a setup. Took down an unrelated gang. All quiet here?”  
  
“Not a peep,” said Natasha.  
  
“Well, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Ms. Rushman.”  
  
“I might be able to do some good if you read me in,” she offered.  
  
“As far as Matt, Foggy and me can guess, it’s somebody mad about what I did to put Fisk behind bars,” said Karen. “I have no idea who read _him_ in.” She nodded at Daredevil.  
  
“I pay attention,” said Murdock, and Natasha filed away confirmation that Karen didn’t know Daredevil’s identity (if she was pretending, she wouldn’t have put those two sentences together).  
  
“You know, it was very heroic and swoon-worthy when you saved me the first time,” said Karen, shooting Daredevil a look. “but this is bordering on stalking.”  
  
Daredevil stiffened. “Has it occurred to you that you just end up close to danger more often than most people?”  
  
Karen glared at him. He did not appear to notice.  
  
“Well, thank you for the help, Ms. Rushman, I can take it from here.”  
  
“You should have our numbers, so you don’t have to drop in at the front door if something’s happening,” Natasha told him. Daredevil reached into a pocket and passed her a burner phone, to which she input her own, Rhodey’s, and Steve’s numbers. Self, team leader, and the guy who could always take a call even in the middle of a firefight.  
  
“Right, I’ll just—” Daredevil waved vaguely upwards as he took his phone back, and climbed out the window again without another word.  
  
Natasha turned to pick up her purse, but Karen cleared her throat.  
  
“Are you stiffing me on our Monopoly game, Ms. Rushman?”  
  
“Of course not,” said Natalie, and returned to the board. Karen looked drawn, but her eyes were bright. She was going to crash, and hard, at some point.  
  
“I was about to take my turn,” said Karen, and did. 

  


Karen had no idea what she was doing. She was exhausted and wired at the same time, which is never good. And asking Natalie to stay and finish the game—Natalie, who had hinted strongly that she was more dangerous than she looked--sounded both very strange and a little flirtatious.  
  
Nevertheless, here she was, finishing the game. At quarter past three in the morning.  
  
She didn't acquire any better an idea what she was doing as the night wore on. The adrenaline wore off, and with it some of the surreal shit and most of the fear. It felt familiar, actually, but Karen couldn't place it.  
  
So of course her brain decided to ask questions, without its usual filter.  
  
"Would you really have complained about men all night with me if I wanted? Is that even a thing you do?"  
  
"I can," said Natalie. "Maybe not all night, but almost all the men in my life are extremely frustrating. "  
  
"But is it a thing you do," persisted Karen.  
  
Natalie gave her a funny look. "I suppose not, not as a habit."  
  
"What if I'd wanted to paint our nails?"  
  
"Then we'd have done that," said Natalie. "Are you trying to find an activity that would have made me turn around and leave you to get attacked?"  
  
"No, just something that would have made you say fuck that, pick something else. "  
  
"Nothing reasonable. If you'd asked me to look through your neighbors compost...actually, assuming you had a good reason and didn't just want to get us both filthy ..."  
  
"What if I had better ideas to get us both filthy?" Karen waggled her eyebrows. Natalie arched one perfect brow in return.  
  
"Miss Page, are you hitting on me?"  
  
For some reason this was hilarious, and Karen giggled. She felt drunk, that's what it reminded her of. "I think so," she said, and went off into more peals of laughter. "Not sure why. Well, would you?"  
  
"Would depend on how much you wanted it, I suppose," said Natalie, considering. "If it wasn't a really serious offer, I'd probably see if I could find something else that you'd like that wasn't so distracting. "  
  
Karen laughed again. "Wouldn't painting our nails be almost as bad as being naked?"  
  
"It's less the naked and more the possibly pinned under you, possibly in mid-penetration, that kind of thing. To answer the question, it's not ideal, but I could practice my legs-only fighting, or worst case, ruin the polish."  
  
"You can do that?"  
  
"Legs-only fighting? Yes."  
  
“If Foggy or Matt turns out to be a freakishly good martial artist too, I am going to call fraud," said Karen, more or less to herself. Natalie grinned.  
  
"They certainly doesn't look capable of it."  
  
“They're as nice as they seem, but you should see them murder someone in court,” said Karen.  
  
“He most definitely doesn’t look capable of murder,” teased Natalie.  
  
“Neither do you, but I bet you could,” said Karen. “Do you?”  
  
“Murder people?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
"Used to," said Natalie, and for the first time she wasn't looking at Karen. "I'm trying to clean out my ledger now."  
  
"I have faith in you," declared Karen. "You're a good." Instead of finishing the sentence, she waved a hand haphazardly. Natalie chuckled.  
  
"You have no idea who I am or what I've done," she murmured.  
  
"I've murdered someone," said Karen, despite the voice in the back of her head screaming at her to stop before she got herself thrown in jail.  
  
“Have you?” Natalie’s voice was neutral.  
  
“Picked up a gun and shot him.” It felt good to say it out loud, even if it was probably (definitely) a stupid idea.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I didn’t want to die.”  
  
“Then you’re a good, too.”  
  
Karen giggled and yawned so hard her jaw cracked.  
  
“Sure you don’t want to sleep?”  
  
“Nah, I’m just gonna…just gonna close my eyes for a sec…”

  


She was out in seconds, sitting up against the couch, her mouth slightly open. Natasha smiled to herself. She packed up the Monopoly game in silence.  
Well. That easily made one of her top five strangest jobs, if only because it had not ended up at all how she had expected. Even the time the Winter Soldier had shot her client through her, only the methodology and killer’s identity were strange, not the fact that the client’d been attacked in the first place. And no other job had involved late-night Monopoly games, semi-advances, and also confessions to murder all in the same 24-hour period.  
  
Karen continued to prove herself sharp as a tack, and her confession had evoked…strange feelings in Natasha. Protectiveness. Possibly empathy.  
  
Natasha stole her phone and programmed her own number into it, then replaced it and carefully lifted the exhausted woman.

  


Karen woke up in her own bed, fully dressed but for her shoes. At noon.  
  
“Shitshitshitshitshit,” she chanted, looking around wildly for her cell phone and slipping her shoes back on. She spotted it on her bedside table and pulled up the office number, only vaguely registering a missed text.  
  
“Murdock and Nelson, Nelson here,” said Foggy.  
  
“Oh god, Foggy, hi, it’s Karen, I’m so sorry, I just woke up, I must have fallen asleep without setting my alarm, I’ll be right over.”  
  
“Hey hey hey,” said Foggy. “You’re a woman with a mark on your head, if you’ve been getting any sleep I’m very surprised. Slow down, get something to eat, hey, why don’t you take the day? Do the self-care thing for all of us, since you know this workaholic won't, you’ll probably do yourself more good than if you rush in here fresh out of bed and try to cram in a workday.”  
  
“All right,” caved Karen.  
  
“Bye.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
She hung up the phone and stared at it a little. Despite what she’d said to Foggy, there was no way she wasn’t going to do her job, but she’d brought home some casework the night before, not knowing she was going to waste the night playing Monopoly. She could get some work done on Mr. Sneed’s case—man had shot his wife, and they were trying to prove it was self-defense and not murder. Something slotted into place in her brain, and she said “Fuck,” to her silent phone.  
  
Natalie. She told Natalie.  
  
Okay, think, she told herself. Natalie hadn’t seemed shocked and horrified, right, about to call the police? And had she said she’d killed people too? It sounded like a hallucination, but Karen vaguely recalled that being why the subject had come up. Honestly, things were a bit fuzzy, and she knew she’d been dreaming at least part of it (unless Matt had actually come over to discuss the merits of green salsa with them), but where did reality end and dream begin?  
  
She unlocked her phone again, about to call the office back and demand Natalie’s phone number, which Matt had to have, right?-- just to notice the unopened text, from ‘Natasha.’  
  
_Hey, this is Natalie, I programmed myself into your phone so you could get ahold of me if anything else comes up or you just want to play more board games. It was definitely one of the more interesting evenings I’ve had._  
  
From Natasha, yet ‘this is Natalie’? Well, she knew Nata—Nat wasn’t the perfectly normal scared wife she thought she’d met at Kawfee Haus. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for ‘Natalie Rushman’ to have been an alias. In fact, now that she thought about it, if she’d spilled her coffee on Karen that day as a means to an end, why on earth _would_ she give out her real name? Karen decided to tentatively name her Natasha in her head until she got confirmation, and texted back.  
  
_Only just woke up. Care to grab lunch? I’d like to clarify which parts of last night I dreamed._ She ignored the vaguely flirty tone of it in favor of coffee and answers, and sent.  
  
Natasha texted back halfway through finishing the coffee. _Right now? Haven’t had enough of me yet?_  
  
Karen blinked at it. Was that genuine self-deprecation, more flirting, or trying to get out of it? _Well, I have the day off, apparently, so now is convenient for me, but another time is fine if you’re busy._ Or if _you’ve_ had enough of _me_ , she carefully didn’t think. (Karen Page was bigger than such insecurities, and was not going to let them in.)  
  
_Today is not great, tbh. Saturday brunch?_  
  
_Sounds great._  
  
There was no response to that. Karen scrubbed at her face with both hands and resolved to be extra productive with the remainder of her day. _After_ a shower.


	3. Gratuitous Clint Barton

  
Clint lowered his bow and glared at Natasha. "One of these days I'm actually going to shoot you, and then where will you be?"

"You'd never shoot someone without at least a nonnegative ID," Natasha returned. She pushed past him and made a beeline for the couch. Clint collapsed his bow and joined her. 

"What's up?"

"I met a girl," said Natasha, and Clint’s eyebrows climbed into his hair. "Do you mean that how it sounds, or are you fucking with me?"

Natasha curled into his side and, after a moment struggling with English, signed DONT-KNOW. Clint extracted an arm and wrapped it around her. 

"Tell me," he said quietly. 

"It was a recon," she started. "I was Natalie."

Clint made an affirmative noise. 

"But then, Daredevil asked me to protect her for a night. And she's smart, and she was tired enough not to be shy, so she was asking me questions and--I wasn't all Natalie anymore."

"Natalie's not that far off," mused Clint. "You without superpowers or a spy background. So you got to be yourself with her?"

"I don't have a self, you know that. But I was...more like your me."

"I like to think my you isn't much of an affectation," said Clint, knocking his head into hers gently. 

"It's certainly one of the automatic ones by now," she said. 

"So what'd you do that wasn't Natalie?"

"She was asking me about what I like to do," she said. "And what I don't--she was trying to find out what I would say no to."

"And what did you tell her?"

"The truth," she said in a low voice. "That I would do whatever it took to complete the mission most effectively."

Clint whistled. "Sure she didn't slip you anything?"

Natasha considered the question seriously. "About seventy percent," she said. There was, after all, the tea.

"How'd she react?"

"She….got distracted and asked me about fighting instead. And then whether I'd killed. And I said I was trying to clean out my ledger."

Clint nodded slowly, taking all of this in. 

"Did _that_ freak her out?"

Natasha shook her head slowly. 

"Have you ever actually built a relationship on the truth?" asked Clint. "I mean built, not got round to it eventually like with me."

"Never had to lie to Bruce," she murmured, "but then again that's not really a relationship at this point."

Clint squeezed her shoulder. "You should try it," he suggested. "She's handled arguably the two hardest aspects of loving you fairly well so far. Try just building on what you have, and see where it goes."

"Since when have you been a good source for relationship advice," she grumbled. 

"Since it's my best friend, not me, you know I--"

"See better from a distance," she finished for him.

"Go get your girl, Romanoff," Clint told her. "And if she breaks your heart, I'll end her slowly."

"I am perfectly capable of doing that myself," Natasha reminded him. 

"The most capable," he assured her. "But as your best friend, it's my duty. And I'm not exactly a precious flower either." 

She ducked her head into his shoulder and he tugged her close. 

"I love you," he whispered into her hair so she could pretend not to hear it. She tightened her hand on his knee in response, and he pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

 

Karen was already at the cafe, nervously bouncing her leg, when Natasha arrived. 

"Did I say anything weird to you the other day?" she blurted out without pleasantry.

"Are you referring to the hitting on me or the swapping of stories confessing to murder?" asked Natasha dryly, seating herself. 

Karen buried her face in her hands, not managing to muffle an "oh god."

When she didn't move after a moment, Natasha placed a hand on her shoulder. "Karen. I've killed far more people than you have, and with far less reason. I am one of the most qualified people in the world to tell you that you did the right thing and to help you through it."

"I know there was nothing I could have done that wouldn't have ended up with one of us dead," said Karen, sitting up but continuing to talk to her hands. 

"But it eats at you," finished Natasha. "It changes you. Makes you know that you're a person capable of that." 

Karen nodded miserably. 

"I know," said Natasha softly. "I know very well." Karen finally looked up at her. 

"Who are you?"

Natasha's face blanked. 

"Who do you want me to be?"

"What kind of an answer is that?" demanded Karen. Natasha withdrew her hand and sat back in her chair, suddenly a forbidding figure. 

"Friend? Enemy? Lover?" She added with a twitch of an eyebrow and just a hint of a feral smile. Karen refused to be either distracted or scared into dropping it. 

"Is your name actually Natasha?"

"It isn't not my name," she answered, less defensively. 

"...All right," said Karen. "I suppose it's asking too much to be yourself and see what happens?"

Natasha said nothing. Karen nodded to herself. 

"How about, you can be anyone you like?" Natasha considered this. 

"I can do that," she agreed. 

Karen sighed again and rested her elbows on the table. "What am I even talking about?" she asked no one in particular. "It sounds like we're starting some kind of relationship. You needed information and then you got roped into babysitting, and we're sitting here because I needed to know if I was getting arrested. I have no reason to believe you even like me."

"It wasn't a chore," said Natasha softly. "No one’s talked to me like that in a long time."

"What, sleep deprived and rude?"

"Like you weren't afraid of me. After you'd met Natasha," she clarified, or at least tried to. It didn't help much. 

"So, what? You want to get to know each other?" Karen looked skeptical. 

"I'd like that," said Natasha quietly, and Karen felt like an asshole. 

"You're just this badass gorgeous woman who I suspect is a superhero, and I'm..."

"Also a badass gorgeous woman, and I’m anything but a hero," returned Natasha. Karen grinned and ducked her head. 

"So, now what?"

"Because I'm the expert at making friends," said Natasha drily. 

"Aren't you kind of, though?" asked Karen. "Just going off of how we met, I got the impression making friends was practically your job description."

"No, my job description is manipulating people until they tell me what I want to know," said Natasha after a moment. Karen stared at her. Or, less stared and more gazed at intently. 

"Natalie Rushman would do anything I wanted to complete the mission," she said slowly. "And now you don't have a mission."

"I could be her," said Natasha, "but you said anyone I wanted and I...don't...want to be her."

“Well, let’s start figuring out who you do want to be,” said Karen decisively. “Cats or dogs?”

Natasha arched one eyebrow.

“Which do you prefer?” Karen clarified.

“Dogs are easier,” mused Natasha after a moment’s thought. “But that makes me respect cats more.”

Karen tilted her head. 

“If you have multiple enemies, do you prefer the one who is easy to defeat or the one who’s actually a challenge?” Natasha asked by way of an explanation. 

“The one who’s easy to defeat, then you live another day. Also dogs,” said Clint, appearing from around a corner. 

“Easy wins have no gratification,” argued Karen. “Cats.”

“I like her,” said Clint, pointing at Karen. 

“Karen Page, Clint Barton. My best friend and professional pain in the ass,” said Natasha without cracking an expression. 

Clint turned to Karen, abruptly serious. "You have no idea how much she's already trusted you with. Don't fuck her up."

"Aren't you supposed to do this part where I can't hear you?" asked Natasha, sounding as if she wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Clint flapped a hand at her. 

"Not worth the effort trying to make you not hear anything."

Natasha's mouth quirked up. 

"I don't actually know everything."

"This is true," said Clint to Karen. "However, making sure she doesn't know a specific thing is another matter entirely, especially if she wants to know."

"Are you two not in the same line of work?" asked Karen. "I just figured, what with the appearing out of nowhere and the knowing what we were talking about."

“No, _he’s_ a reckless roof-jumping archer straight out of the circus,” said Natasha.

“And a sniper,” said Clint. “Which explains the other stuff. We were partners for a long time, though.”

“You shot things and you…?” Karen looked at Natasha, who hesitated for a moment, and Karen changed her mind. "Game of Twenty Questions?"

"Oh, don't you fuck her up either, Nat," said Clint, rubbing his hands together and perching on the arm of her chair. "I wanna keep her."

Natasha looked as though she was fighting the impulse to facepalm. 

"Okay, so your job description is 'manipulate people into telling you what you want to know', your skill set includes a ridiculous level of martial arts expertise, and you have superpowers but you don't consider yourself a superhero," listed Karen, and Clint grinned in apparent glee. 

"So, reporter sidelining as a vigilante? Or spy?"

Clint whistled and clapped. "Twenty points to Gryffindor!"

Karen burst out laughing and Natasha gave into the urge to facepalm. 

"Well, I don't know what you do for a living, so I can't say "twenty points to the spy' or 'to the archer' or whatever," Clint defended himself. "And saying 'girl' or 'lady' is both confusing and patronizing. And you're definitely a Gryffindor. So."

"God save us from you making friends," said Natasha. 

"Hey," Clint spread his arms. "She's now not only passed identity crisis, former assassin, and spy, but also me. That's all the usual hangups."

"Former assassin?" said Karen. 

"Shit," said Clint. "Did you not know? I thought you told me she knew!" he said to Natasha.

"I said she knew I'd killed, not that I used to be a career criminal," said Natasha coldly, and Karen hated her complete lack of expression, but she didn't know what to say to reassure her. Instead, she reached over and took Natasha's hand from where it sat stiffly on the table. 

Clint gasped and made a heart with his hands. 

"You've been spending too much time with Deadpool," shot Natasha without looking at either of them. 

"Impossible," said Clint. Then, spotting something outside the window, "aw, mafia, no." He jumped up and vanished into the kitchen, presumably looking for a back door. 

"Mafia?" said Karen worriedly. "Is he going to be okay? Should I call Matt?" 

"Clint Barton is a human disaster who is easily thwarted by the coffee maker, but mafia he can handle," said Natasha dismissively. Karen made a mental note to mention them to Matt anyway, in case legal help was warranted. 

"I like him," she said out loud. "You've got good taste."

Natasha opened her mouth and nibbled on the end of her tongue for a moment. "He's doing better," she said. "The alien invasion was a shitshow for him."

"If that was a shitshow, how's Deadpool his idea of good company?" wondered Karen. 

"Deadpool's a terrible influence, but he's got a hell of a lot more respect for autonomy than Loki," said Natasha flatly. "Also anyone who hates showing their face that badly but still lifts their mask so he can read their lips gets at least grudging acceptance from me."

They were still holding hands. Natasha finally met her eyes, and seemed to be trying to convey something significant. 

"Come over sometime," said Karen at last. "We'll try to find something you hate."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, then appeared to remember their late night conversation and laughed. Karen silently cheered. 

By the time she got home, Natasha itched to do something normal, take a break from awkward confessions. She walked up to Steve, and said, "Spar?" He agreed, and next thing they were on the mat, ducking and twisting for all they were worth. Steve was good, after all, he'd been trained by Peggy Carter and never relied on his sheer size. But today, Natasha was ferocious, pinning him over and over until she had her thighs around his neck and Steve slapped her leg twice, hard. Natasha dropped instantly. 

"Steve?" she asked, worried. Never before had he had to tap out. Steve was coughing, a hand to his neck. She had hurt him. She did not lose control like that, she just didn't. 

Steve got his breath back, and the first thing he said was, "Are you okay?"

Natasha panicked. And because she was the Black Widow and not anybody else, this meant she wiped her expression blank, dropped any telegraphing body language, and started calculating exit strategies. 

"JARVIS," said Steve, "patch Barton through."

"Ey, Cap, what's cooking?" Clint's voice came over the loudspeaker. 

"I think something's wrong with Natasha," said Steve without preamble. "We were sparring, and she started to choke me out. I tapped out, and now she's standing here...blank." 

"Shit. Am I on speaker?" asked Clint, and when given the affirmative, "Natasha, can you hear me?" She didn't answer. "Agent, sitrep," said Clint more firmly. 

"I can hear you," she said tonelessly. 

"You're okay, you didn't hurt anyone. Cap's talking, you can't have damaged him. I'm coming to get you, okay? Sit down and keep breathing for me." He made her tell him her designation, his, Fury's, Coulson's. In between, he gave Steve instructions to sit down and not get between her and the exit. The elevator opened on the gym to Clint still talking. As he caught sight of her, he hung up the phone and jogged over, getting on the ground a good ten feet away to approach her on her level. 

"I'm not gonna snap," she told him, having regained some measure of equilibrium. 

"Good," he told her. "Not snapped is a good thing. What's gotcha freaked out, huh?" He settled himself cross-legged beside her, close enough to touch but not doing it. "Is it Karen?" She nodded. "Did she say something?"

"No, it's just, she knows so much. I've let her have so much. It's not me."

"So you came home to do something that would make you feel like you again."

"I lost control," she whispered. "That's not me either."

"So it backfired. Oh, hon." He reached out slowly and she nodded, allowing him to pull her gently into a hug. "We're all allowed to have off days. And people who get under our skin. It doesn't make you less you, it just makes you human." She laid her head on his shoulder and he gave her a squeeze. "Do I need to go talk to her? Get her to lighten up on the existential talk?" She shook her head. 

"She's so easy to talk to. She's not like anyone I've ever met."

"She sounds like she could be a real good thing for you," he told her. "Don't let them have this too. You are not just a weapon anymore." 

"Try listening to yourself once in a while, Hawkeye," she retorted. 

"Yeah, yeah, easier said than internalized." 

"You are so full of shit," she told him. Natasha knew better than anyone how thoroughly and from how young Clint had seen himself as nothing more than the best marksman in the world. His entire world hinged on him making the shot, just as hers did on having control of a situation, or at least her own part in it. But she appreciated hearing it anyway. 

"How's the mafia situation?" she asked to change the subject. 

"All good, Daredevil turned up and wanted to hit people, so I let him handle it."

 

Karen texted the next day and they arranged to meet up for movie night. 'Movie night', it turned out, was code for 'deconstructing feminist themes in Star Wars'. 

"Look at her not need rescuing!" Karen exclaimed at one point, and "Female characters never get to play this archetype, they're usually relegated to teaching the male hero and then either dying or falling in love with him while he takes over as resident badass."

"Do you think Finn knew it was Poe when he saw how the x-wing was flying?" Natasha asked afterward.

"I think he hoped," replied Karen. "I mean, the way he says 'that's one hell of a pilot' is pretty telling, but he has no reason to believe Poe is alive. Best romance of the year."

"They're cute, but it's probably queerbaiting," dismissed Natasha. 

"No, I don't think so, I think that's everyone involved in that movie setting up a romance and covering their asses until they're sure it's not going to backfire," Karen returned. "That's Han and Leia's theme playing over the meadow run." 

"It is? I don't think I've actually seen the originals." 

"No!" Karen looked delighted. "Clear your schedule, we need to have a movie marathon."

 

So they did. Like clockwork, every Tuesday and Thursday night was Star Wars night. Karen insisted on an order that made no sense to Natasha (who watches a series of six movies in 451236?) but she deferred to the scifi expert, and watching Karen emote over Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker was almost as good as the films themselves. 

"You should pick the next one," said Karen after the rebels had finally taken down the Death Star (the third Natasha had seen in the series, but apparently complaining about originality was not allowed). Natasha fretted about this to Clint, who tried and failed not to find the whole thing amusing.

"Watch that skating one you like," he suggested at last. Having no better ideas, Natasha put it in her bag come Tuesday night. 

"So what are we watching?" asked Karen when she opened the door. They'd worked out a system where they always used Karen's place, since she actually owned a DVD player, and Natasha brought food. She balanced a bag of chips and handed over the dvd case. 

"Oh my god," said Karen. "Cutting Edge? This is my favorite movie!"

"Really?" said Natasha, startled. "It's mine, too."

"Marry me," said Karen, and put it in the DVD player while Natasha concentrated on not swallowing her tongue.

It was no less fun watching a rom-com. When the male lead fell on his face after trying figure skating shoes, both of them called, "Toepick!" along with the female lead. Karen nibbled her fingers when they got to the competition, and even got teary at the end. 

“So what’s on for Thursday?” said Karen and Natasha, who had been grinning at her friend, sobered abruptly.

“I forgot. I’m going out of town. A couple of days, a week at most.”

“Not visiting family, I guess?” said Karen. Natasha shook her head. 

"No, a work thing. All my family died back in the seventies," she said, not bothering to think about how she wouldn't even have known who to look for, were she somehow back in that time and not owned by the Red Room. 

"The seventies?" repeated Karen. Natasha took a deep breath and let it out again. It was okay. This wouldn't matter either. 

"Yeah. I don't look my age, do I?"

"Um. No. How are you, what, eighty?"

"Russian scientists experimented on me from the time I was a child and turned me into their weapon." Natasha kept her eyes on the tv screen. This felt different, somehow. She was offering this information of her own free will, because she wanted Karen to know. A hand snaked into hers, and she darted a glance at Karen, who was also staring at the tv.

"I'd like to unleash Daredevil on the sick fucks that would do that to a child," she said. 

Somehow, that made Natasha feel better than a hundred 'I'm sorry's.


	4. Shit Starts Going Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the stuff with Ellison is straight out of Daredevil.

She texted Karen while she waited for the plane to Shanghai. It simply hadn’t occurred to her when she’d told Isaiah she’d take the job that she’d be missing her night with Karen. It was like two different parts of her life had collided. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had more than one part of her life before. 

_Sorry again to miss out. Hope to see you Tuesday._

_It’s okay. Me too!_

 

But the job ended up with complications. Mr. Lin’s son turned out to not so much be in danger as be trying to kill her, having taken up his dead brother’s mantle of Iron Scorpion. Natasha managed to text Karen on Monday that she wouldn’t make Tuesday, but it was a full nine days before Natasha was trudging back up the steps to her apartment, sparing a pat for the stray cat who lived outside her building and cursing the fellow for getting away. She flipped open her phone.

_I’m home. Finally._

It was a few minutes before she got a reply.

_You would not believe what’s happened here. Too long a story for text._

_Short version?_

_The mob pulled some shit. Got a client. Gunman shot up the hospital to get him. DA tried to pull some shit. Client died, but the police got the gunman, who’s a Daredevil copycat. Then we picked up the gunman as a client._

Natasha blinked.

_Where’s Clint Barton when you need him? Could’ve used some of that ‘can handle the mafia’ mojo._

_Are you okay?_

_Yeah, fine, Frank wasn’t gonna shoot me._

_Frank?_

_Frank Castle, you ever heard of him? Because I know there’s more to this than we’re hearing._

Natasha was halfway through typing a _No, sorry_ text when the next message came in.

_He had a wife and kids, and they all died, and nobody’s talking about it. And his house, it’s exactly the same, all the kids’ stuff is still there._

_What were you doing in his house?_

A pause. Then, _Broke in._

_You broke into the house of a murderer to find evidence for his own trial?_

_No, this was before he got arrested._

_You broke into the house of a murderer at large?_

Another pause. Natasha’s hands, she realized distantly, were shaking.

_Well, when you put it like that…_ Natasha hit call.

“Hey!” said Karen at once. “I can only talk for a little bit, we’ve got loads to do before the trial.”

“Karen.”

“Yeah, okay, so it’s not the safest thing I’ve ever done, but you know what Natasha, I work for a law firm, sometimes that involves criminals, and sometimes criminals involve danger, and you cannot tell me that you’ve been away for a week on a work thing not able to even text, the whole time being perfectly safe and not doing anything dangerous.”  
“I’m an infiltration expert who’s been doing this for sixty years!” said Natasha. “It’s hardly the same thing!” She felt as though a layer of skin had been ripped off, allowing emotions about ten times stronger than she was used to in.

“Really, ‘cause I think you can probably still get shot even with sixty years’ practice when the practice is in _infiltration_ ,” said Karen. “At least I didn’t sneak into his house while he was still there. And you’re mad ‘cause you worry, but I worry too and you’ll notice I’m not telling you that you should have come home when things got complicated.” A voice on the other end. “Foggy needs me, Natasha, gotta go, bye,” said Karen, and hung up.

 

“Everyone I know does superhero work. But her, she’s only doing basic B&E, no aliens, no HYDRA, and I can’t calm down,” said Natasha, pacing. “My adrenaline’s up so high I can’t focus enough to be anyone.”

“What?” Clint frowned. 

“I can’t be Natalie, I can’t be Steve’s Natasha, I certainly couldn’t be an escort or interrogator Black Widow or Avenger Black Widow, and I can’t even tell if I’m your Natasha or hers or anyone at all. I don’t understand.”

“Well, what does she make you feel when she isn’t scaring you silly?” asked Clint philosophically from the couch, seemingly unconcerned with Natasha wearing a hole in his floorboards.

“Understood,” said Natasha after a moment’s thought, finally slowing to a standstill. “Cared for.” And, after a longer pause, “Safe.”

Clint nodded. “And what would you do to keep her safe?”

Natasha thought a moment, and her lips pressed together tightly.

“I don't know," she said, twisting her hands in a rare display of anxiety. "But I want to say I'd burn down the world to save her."

“You’re in love with her,” said Clint softly. Natasha stopped dead.

A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind, starting with “I am?” going to “But I _can’t_ be,” and ending at “Is this what it feels like?” but nothing came out of her mouth.  
"I need to go," was what she said, hating that she couldn’t be anyone diplomatic, that she had to trust even Clint this raw, but she had no choice.

 

If this, this was where they were heading, careening toward at a pace which Natasha was sure terrified her on whatever level she still processed that kind of fear, then she needed to warn Karen.

But Karen wasn't home. Before she knew what she was doing, Natasha had traced the tracker still on Karen's car and was on her way to the precinct. When she stopped to think, she almost turned around and went back home. Karen at the precinct probably meant Karen working. She did have a life outside of Natasha. But what if she wasn’t? 

A truly mad idea popped into her head, and encouraged by an imaginary Clint. With an offhand thought to blame him when this inevitably went wrong, Natasha punched out the first cop she could find. 

She slipped a piece of plexiglass into the lock of the door to the interrogation room. The cops cuffed her to the table inside and left. Perfect, she didn't even have to carry on a conversation at the same time. And the time it had taken to get arrested had allowed her to calm down somewhat. But listen as she might, Natasha could hear no sign of Murdock, Nelson, or Karen. After a few minutes of this, Natasha dislocated a thumb, slipped out of the cuffs, and opened the door. She made her way to the security screens, giving the guard a heap of bullshit that she wouldn't even remember later. And there was Karen, sitting in what looked like a room full of back issues, judging by the newspaper she was leafing through. Natasha blinked at the screen, and went to find her. 

Karen, it seemed, was not in the least surprised to see her.

"Hey, Natasha!" she said cheerfully. 

"What are you doing?" asked Natasha curiously.

"Research on Frank Castle."

Natasha didn't have a good answer, so she just smiled. Karen grinned happily.

"You're in a good mood," Natasha observed.

Karen looked down, bit her lip, and took a breath.

"Matt kissed me," she said, as though relating a secret.

_Oh._ Natasha only nodded.

"And, he asked me out, and, well, I said yes," said Karen, looking up at Natasha again. “And it was awkward at first, but then it was really nice.”

"I'm glad you're happy," said Natasha, careful to keep up a blank mask.

"So, what are you doing here?" asked Karen casually.

"Just wanted to come see how you were." She almost winced at the transparency. Karen raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Want to help me look through these files?" she asked, proffering a stack. Natasha settled down beside her and assigned part of her brain to listen to Karen explaining what they were looking for while she tried to parse.

She almost wished she could say she was jealous, or disappointed, but it was far from that simple. A confusing mess of feelings boiled over her, so she couldn't have said what composed it. If she had to guess, she would say jealousy and disappointment were in there, but not strong enough to pick out clearly. She was also genuinely happy that Karen was, and… Protective? Odd. Matt might beat people up in his spare time, but he wouldn't lay a hand on Karen. On the other hand, she didn't know he was Daredevil, and Clint's words came back to her.

_Have you ever built a relationship on honesty?_

Before Natasha abandoned Karen for the night, she pulled her into a tight hug. Nonsensical words tugged at her brain, like "don't let him get away with anything just because you like him." But she said nothing, just smiled and waved at Karen's confused expression.

 

But it was only days later that Karen called.

"I left Matt," was what she opened with.

"What did he do?" asked Natasha, stopping dead.

"Found another woman in his bed," said Karen shortly, tears audible beneath the surface.

"What."

"I actually don't think he was having sex with her," Karen continued, and Natasha wrenched herself away from a fantasy of slowly murdering Murdock. (Which was odd. Quite the overreaction, for her anyway.) "They were both wearing clothes, and there was an old guy there too, and they only looked stressed and in pain, not sexed up. But whatever is going on in his life that he won't tell us about is way bigger than I thought, and I can't be with him when seventy percent of his life is secrets and lies."

"Want to play terrible board games and complain about men?" Natasha found herself asking. Karen giggled wetly.

"God, yes. But, rain check until after this whole thing is over? There is shit going down in Hell’s Kitchen and I need to know what it is."

"I could help you research," offered Natasha. "Or just provide moral support."

"God, I love you," said Karen, and Natasha's heart stopped. "Meet me at the Bulletin office?"

Natasha agreed and drove over on sheer autopilot.

 

Clint found it hilarious when Natasha told him.

“You were her coffee gopher? You sat in the background and made it more comfortable for someone else to do the heroing?”

Natasha blanked her face through a stab of hurt. Clint noticed and sobered.

“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s not a bad thing. Just a little out of character.” He slowly reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “She makes you happy. That’s a good thing. Even if it means you have to learn to be someone new.”

“I feel more things with her,” Natasha admitted. Clint cocked his head at her, and she shrugged.

“Have you talked to her at all?”

She didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. “She’s under a lot of stress right now. They’re in the middle of Frank Castle’s trial. It seems selfish.”

“Maybe she’d appreciate knowing how much you care,” said Clint, smiling sadly. 

“I know the books all say I’m just protecting myself from rejection,” she told him, “but they’re putting up a character witness tomorrow and she’s barely sleeping trying to find something that will help the case.”

“It’s Frank Castle,” said Clint, frowning. “We know full well he murdered all those people.”

“They’re not trying to prove him innocent, I don’t think,” said Natasha. “Just reduce the sentence.”

“You think?”

“She sometimes thinks she’s already told me something, and it’s more important that she talk it out than that I follow, so I don’t ask for clarification. And it didn’t seem important enough to look up,” she added, catching his raised eyebrow. “I’m not a lawyer, I’m a spy.”

The headline news the next day informed Natasha along with the rest of the city that Frank Castle had had an outburst in court and essentially threw his own trial. She texted Karen.

_You okay?_

_I wish I could just hit pause and not be okay for a bit, honestly._

_You want me to come visit?_

There was a long pause before Karen started typing again.

_Yeah, okay._

Natasha was half out the door before she thought about it.

“Hey,” said Karen, opening the door and giving her a tired smile. “God, you would not believe the day I’ve had.” She stepped back and let Natasha in. 

“I heard about the trial,” Natasha offered.

“Not just that.” Karen sagged against the doorframe. “I think Matt and Foggy are calling it quits. Which leaves me out of a job. And I _know_ there’s more to this, it doesn’t make any sense. I can’t stop thinking about it. And there’s nothing I can do anyway, so I don’t know why.”

“Is the Bulletin closed?” And didn’t it say something how that wasn’t a non sequitur.

“Got kicked out. Apparently I need to spend some of my time in a room with windows.” She thudded her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. “God, everything was so easy just, like, a week ago.”

Natasha would have shifted about nervously if she was anyone else. She didn’t have a script for this.

“Anyway,” said Karen, opening her eyes, “Terrible board games and tea?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Natasha, and followed her into the kitchen. Karen pulled out mugs, teabags, and sugar from the cabinets and set them down and leaned against the counter for a moment. Tentatively, Natasha reached out and pulled her closer, and Karen went willingly into her arms.

“I feel so adrift, and then there’s you,” Karen whispered, and Natasha swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. 

_Clint says I love you,_ she wanted to say, _and I think he might be right because you paint the world in color,_ but all she did was tighten her arms around Karen and fist her hands in Karen’s shirt and tilt her face up just slightly when Karen pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Can I kiss you,” breathed Karen, and

“Yes,” whispered Natasha, and Karen leaned down and pressed their lips together.

They were soft like flower petals, and a small warm buzz seemed to permeate Natasha, which already made it the best kiss she’d ever had. She was too old to feel disappointed that there was still no feeling of fireworks that the romance novels she always denied reading talked about.

Karen broke off and tilted her forehead to rest against Natasha’s. 

“Yeah, that’s not going any further, at least right now.” She laughed a little, and Natasha let her go to finish making the tea. “Scrabble?”

“How many languages am I allowed to use?” asked Natasha, and Karen laughed for real. 

“You can pick one more to use if I can use Spanish.”

“Deal. I’ll even do French instead of Russian.”

“What am I missing?” asked Karen, cocking her head at Natasha confusedly. It was Natasha’s turn to chuckle.

“I’m Russian. I can’t promise I don’t have an unfair proficiency in French, but at least it’s not my native language.”

“Wow. You have no accent at all.”

“Lots of practice.”

“I’ll say.”

Natasha set up the Scrabble board, and Karen brought in the tea when it was ready.

“You don’t mind, right? That I don’t want to have sex?” Karen laughed self-deprecatingly and gazed into the depths of her tea. “God, I shouldn’t even need to say that. That’s internalized misogyny for you.”

“Of course not,” said Natasha, and then pondered her next sentence carefully. “You know already that my life has been rather more complicated than a lot of people’s.” 

Karen nodded.

“My relationship with sex is just as complicated. We definitely do not need to be navigating that tonight.” 

Karen relaxed almost imperceptibly. “In that case, I shall prepare myself to get my ass kicked at Scrabble with a clean conscience despite the patriarchy.” Natasha grinned. And did just that.

 

Karen got to bed under her own steam that time and wakes up perhaps not literally less tired than her norm of late, but mentally rested, like her brain had finally gotten a much needed break. 

So naturally she went to the police department and searched the files of the case until she found something useful, and then to the Bulletin. And in the harsh light of day, her own involvement in this case became distressingly obviously disproportionate. She was far too invested in it, and for what? Literally everyone, except maybe Natasha, had been telling her she was taking it too far.

She was waffling about what exactly to do with the files when Ellison spotted her.

“Karen Page. Well, you guys had a hell of a day in court. Front row seats to the trial of the decade. Did you bring me a t-shirt?” She laughed a little.

“No.” Then, swallowing her nerves, she added, “I might have something better.”

“These are from the NYPD files on Castle’s family’s autopsy report,” she explained, and pointed out the discrepancy. “I think this is the John Doe the medical examiner said he covered up.”

“Said when?” asked Ellison, and Karen gave him a weird look.

“During the Frank Castle trial.”

“Tepper’s testimony wasn’t public,” Ellison reminded her. Karen felt like an idiot.

“They cleared the courtroom. I was one of a handful of people who heard it.”

“Okay,” said Ellison, “So we find out who John Doe is, and then we find out why he was important enough to hide.”

“Uh…” said Karen. “You know what? Actually, I think that, um. I think you should do this.” It was the smart thing to do. She was getting obsessive about this case, she knew it. Ellison, however, just stared at her. “Trial’s over,” she reminded him.

“So?” said the editor. 

“So, Frank is in prison, and everyone’s retreated to their corners, including my bosses, one of which has repeatedly told me to let it go and move on.”

“And do you?” asked Ellison. “Do you want to move on?”

“Case is closed,” said Karen, trying not to feel like she was trying to convince herself more than him. “Castle tanked his own case.” And damn, that had hurt after the effort she’d put into it for him. “He got put away. I just think you should carry the torch on this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gulped. _Let it go._

“Okay,” he said. “So, I just wanna rewind this informal meeting we’re having by about thirty seconds.”

“What?”

“You come to me with a lead, a really good lead, right, and now you just wanna take off? Right? I mean, it’s like a pitcher going into the eighth inning with a no-hit shutout, and just walking away.”

“Look,” said Karen, “This was supposed to be about saving my law firm, and I didn’t--” But he cut her off.

“I get that. At first, yeah.” He paused. “But I gotta tell you, I’ve gotten about ten phone calls in the last week from people wanting to know where I’m getting my information.”

She took a second to process that. “Really?”

He made an agreeing noise.

“What’d you tell them?”

“What do you think I told them, I took all the credit, but the point is, that when my phone starts ringing like that, that means that you’re shaking the right trees. So yeah, sure, I mean, the case is closed. Frank Castle’s in prison. But this thing ain’t over. Not yet, not by a long shot. You know it. ‘Cause you know you’re on to something.”

_You’re not crazy,_ Karen heard underneath. _You’re not yelling into the abyss just because you’re frustrated._

“Yeah,” she said, letting out a breath. “Okay. Okay.”

“Okay. All right, so, um, I pull some strings, we, um, find out the last known address of medical examiner Tepper, and maybe he’ll be more willing to have a conversation outside of the courtroom, away from the icy death gaze of Frank Castle.”

“No, but wait,” said Karen. “Talk to who?”

“Whom.”

“Wait. Talk to me? I--”

“No, no, no. To us, Karen, to us. Don’t get cocky, you’re not that good yet. Got a long time to go.” And he walked out. 

So that was how she and Ellison ended up outside Tepper’s apartment, trying to convince him to open the door.

“Sir,” Karen tried, “I know your testimony in the case against Frank Castle hurt your career. I think I can help you.” Nothing. “But I also think there are other people involved who could really use your help.”

Finally the door opened. Tepper stared at Karen.

“I remember you. You were with the defense.” 

She shrugged self-consciously. “I’m not with them now.”

“We’re with the New York Bulletin,” Ellison cut in.

“Please,” added Karen, and at last Tepper stepped aside to let them in. 

“After what happened at the courthouse, the mayor asked me to step down. I know I sound paranoid, but…” He glanced over his shoulder, although the door was now closed. “There have been people following me.”

“You’re a target because of what you know,” confirmed Ellison. “’Cause whatever that is, they want to keep it in the dark. Karen has found something--” and he gestured dramatically at her, “that will bring the truth to light.”

“Here,” said Karen, opening her folder. “Is this the body they asked you to make disappear?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said.

“I understand you’re afraid,” Karen told him, sincerity overflowing from every word. “You can either continue to be trapped by what you’ve done or you can tell us what you know, so that we can go out and expose the real bad guys. And then you can get back to living your life, because this place, this place is not where your story ends.”

“That’s him,” admitted Tepper at last. “That’s the John Doe.”

“Okay. Did he have a wallet?” Tepper shook his head. Too easy, thought Karen wryly. “What about any, any identifying marks? Scars, tattoos, anything?” He was still shaking his head, but then he turned to face her.

“I tell you this, you have to substantiate it before you print a word of it.”

“Of course,” said Ellison.

“All right, he didn’t have a name, but tucked inside his left shoe, he did have something."

What?

“A police call sign. A special code.” He sighed. “Look, John Doe wasn’t a criminal, and he wasn’t some innocent bystander in the park, either. He was an undercover cop.”

 

“It wasn’t just a random gang shootout.” Karen worked through her thoughts out loud as she followed Ellison back inside the Bulletin. “It was a sting. Who knows who’s involved? Cops, DA’s office, obviously. The mayor? How high does this go?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell by that look in your eye that you’re not gonna get any rest till you figure it out. So, if you wanna camp out in here…” And he opened the door to an office Karen remembered very well. “It’s all yours. Start digging.”

“Are you serious?” Was this even happening? Was he implying what she thought he was implying?

“I’m very serious.”

She walked inside as Ellison flicked on the light, gazing at the framed articles still on the wall. No one had cleaned out the office, as though it was some kind of monument. And it seemed to now be hers.

She spotted a file with her name on it, literally, sitting on the desk, and opened it. And burst into tears. The top article was the report of her brother’s death.

“Ben was the best researcher I’ve ever known,” said Ellison from the door.

“I remember,” said Karen, trying her best to get her breathing under control. “Did you--”

“Read that? Yes, I read it. Look, Ben didn’t care, and I don’t, either. Get to work, okay?” And he closed the door behind him.

Karen took several deep breaths, then did as she was told.


	5. Karen Will Not Stop Getting in Danger

Natasha was headed to the kitchen to fix herself dinner when she walked past Steve watching television.

“Frank Castle’s escaped,” he said without looking away from the news. Natasha finally understood what people were talking about when they said their heart leaped into their throat. She joined Steve in front of the television for only a minute before she was checking on Karen’s location. She was at the Bulletin. 

But she wasn’t in the back issues room like Natasha expected. Natalie stalked the halls, striking a balance between woman on a mission and unobtrusive to try and avoid being questioned while she looked for Karen. She wasn’t in any of the open part of the building or in any of the rooms with open doors. She stopped by one office with a closed door, read the nameplate, and opened it.

Karen was there, sitting at the computer, file folder on the desk. She looked up, eyes red-rimmed.

“Hey, Natasha.” Natasha wondered in the back of her mind if Karen was ever going to ask her how Natasha always knew where she was, or if she had written it down to ‘spy’ and moved on. 

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked.

“I think I accidentally became a reporter,” was the answer. 

Natasha pondered that for only a second before she shrugged. “You were an investigative journalist in all but name till now. You’re good at it.”

Karen reached out and squeezed her hand tightly. “That’s what Ellison said. He gave me Ben’s office, Natasha.” Her voice broke, but she held her composure.

“That’s amazing,” said Natasha, who had heard all about Ben Urich. “I hate to spoil the mood, but did you hear Frank Castle’s escaped?”

Karen blinked at her. “Well, god damn.”

“You’ve been working too long if that’s your reaction.”

“There might be a greater purpose to this story after all.” Karen gnawed on her lower lip. “I should see…” She tugged her phone out of her pocket and woke it up. When she said nothing, Natasha peered over her shoulder. “I’ve got a message from the DA’s office,” said Karen flatly. “They want me for questioning about Frank Castle’s escape.”

 

Karen wouldn’t let Natasha come with her to the courthouse, but Natalie picked up a second job as a courthouse aide overnight and kept her ears trained as she moved about the building. And when she heard shots fired, she followed the sound at a run. 

There was no sign of the shooter. Karen was unharmed, thanks to Murdock, but Nelson was lying on the ground bleeding from the shoulder, and the DA was dead. 

“It wasn’t Frank,” Karen was already insisting as she went to Natasha’s hug. “It wasn’t.”

“Why not?” asked Natasha.

“Pattern’s all wrong. Frank does precision shots. No one gets hit who he wasn’t trying to hit. This, this is what the guy who’s been on and off trying to shoot me for ages does. Bam-bam-bam-bam.” She demonstrated indiscriminate shooting with a finger gun. 

Matt came over to check on Karen, and Natasha released her and faded into the background. By the time Karen turned around again, she was gone.

 

“Slow down, slow down, slow down,” said Clint. “Why have you volunteered me as sniper for Karen Page’s building?”

“I’m too close,” said Natasha, pushing past him. “Sentiment is making me sloppy. I’m going to get her killed.”

“What do you mean, you’re going to get her killed?”

“That shooter should never have gotten near her.”

“Oh, you mean if you’d ignored her explicit request and shadowed her to her meeting? Or if you were omnipotent? Nat. You’ve got limitations. I know you know that.”

“It’s more than that. It’s like…” She swallowed and crossed her arms protectively. “Sometimes when I’m with her, or I’m thinking about her, it’s like this layer between me and feeling things just vanishes. And I can’t just add the emotion to the intel and move on, I’m stuck in it, and I’m not as focused, I’m not as good.”

Before Clint could say anything, Natasha’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket, glanced at it, and answered.

“Are you okay?”

“I was calling to ask you that,” said Karen, traces of amusement in her voice. “You vanished.”

KAREN YOU-ASK-HER, Clint signed at her. 

Natasha squinted at him and did a one-handed WHAT?

BLACK SPIDER SHE WANT SHE?

“Natasha?” Now Karen sounded worried.

“I can set Clint up by your building. No one will be able to get to you.” Clint rolled his eyes and took the phone away from her.

“Sorry, Karen. This is Clint. Nat panicked a little that the shooter got so close. You want one of us to come down and keep watch? It’s no trouble, but I don’t wanna overstep anything.”

“No, I’m good. Brett sent two cops with me.”

“Okey-doke. Here’s Nat back. Be gentle with her, she’s not used to acting like a person.” He handed the phone back over.

“I’m okay,” Karen assured her. “Matt heard the safety go off or something; he tackled me. And I have a gun here at my apartment.”

“Were they there for Reyes, or one of you, do you know?”

“Well, everyone seems convinced it’s Frank, which would make Reyes make some sense, but I don’t think so…” Karen trailed off, clearly not wanting to elaborate and spook Natasha further. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” said Natasha in an almost-whisper.

“Bye.”

 

Karen did call the next day. Technically. It was one o’clock in the morning, and Natasha was awake instantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” said Karen, which was not the most promising start to a conversation. “But I wanted you to hear from me instead of the news or your spy sources or whatever.” She sighed. “You’re going to kill me. The shooter turned up at my apartment. I’m okay,” she repeated. In some back part of Natasha’s mind she avoided squeezing the phone hard enough to break it.

“The shooter turned up. And tried to kill you again.”

“Yeah. And it isn’t Frank. Look, I’m at the police station, and they’re not letting me leave yet, and I’m gonna have an escort home, so can you come over and I can tell you the story later?”

Natasha read between the lines. “I’ll meet you there.”

She kept an eye on Karen’s tracker until it headed away from the station, and then climbed in Karen’s bedroom window. She was waiting on the sofa when Karen walked in, assuring the officers that they weren’t needed indoors before turning around, spotting Natasha, and physically leaping backwards a foot.

“God! You about gave me a heart attack!” 

Black Widow arched an eyebrow at her. Karen sighed. 

“Are you mad at me for not accepting your surveillance, or are you just being someone who isn’t fazed by shootings?”

The Widow blinked. Thought about it. “The second one,” she said slowly. Karen leaned back against the door and closed her eyes as if exhausted.

“Okay. Are you going to be the person who worries about me getting shot, or stay this one?” There was no annoyance in her tone, no judgment, just Karen figuring out where this conversation was going. But even as she spoke, Interrogator Black Widow was melting away and being replaced by Karen’s Natasha, and it _hurt._ Natasha buried her face in her hands, and at once Karen was curling up next to her on the couch. 

“I know it wasn’t Frank because he pushed me to the ground as the guy started shooting.” Natasha processed that silently, unrolling enough to pull Karen into her arms. “He’s not a danger to me,” Karen continued. “And you’re going to hate this, but I have to meet him.”

“You’re right, I am going to hate that,” said Natasha.

Her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket, and frowned at the ID. Isaiah. “It’s my lawyer,” she told Karen, and opened the message.

_I’ve got a ransom note here for you. The Iron Scorpion’s back._

Natasha frowned at it.

_He’s got a hostage?_

_No, but he sent a photo._ A second later, it popped up in the message. Natasha didn’t need to enlarge it to know what it was, and a chill ran down her spine. Someone had seen her and Karen together at the courthouse.

“What’s wrong?” asked Karen, peering over at the phone curiously.

“I have a little cleanup to do from my last mission,” said Natasha. Avenger Black Widow was sliding into place as she stood up. “Be safe. I’ll be back when I can.”

 

“You love him,” said Frank of Matt, slouched across the table from Karen in a little diner. She sputtered and began to protest, but something about it stuck. She’d had a crush on Matt, for sure, might have been able to love him. She was, much as she hated to admit it, developing a crush on the man across from her. And yet, the last person she’d kissed, who she was pretty sure she loved, was Natasha.

 

“Hey. I hear you have a problem with my friend.”

Captain America stood facing a Chinese man with a long beard and a nasty smirk.

“Ah, yes. Black Widow. Where is she?” Iron Scorpion cocked his head.

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“As you Americans say, bullshit.” He whirled, stepping out of his cover, and riddled the tree branches with bullets. Natasha contorted to avoid getting shot and consequently toppled out of the tree. She landed on her feet, managing to look like she’d meant to do that. “The Slavic Shadow does not let her friends do her work for her,” continued Lin. “But neither does she like to face her enemies in the open. Widow’s previous enemies have not learned. When you meet a friend of hers, where you need to look is at your own back.” As he spoke, he fired, apparently aiming for one limb or another, and the Russian Avenger found herself performing a sort of dance to dodge. Steve’s shield came whipping past them, rebounded off a tree, and flew flat first into the Scorpion’s gun hand, knocking it out of the way. Black Widow shot him.

“Bitch,” snarled Scorpion, and pulled something out of his pocket with his free hand. Black smoke erupted from his hand, and Widow threw herself to the ground. When it had cleared, he was gone. Natasha swore.

“At least you got him,” said Steve.

“Not a kill shot, though. He’ll be back.”

“But this should slow him down. Enough time to come up with a new plan.”

“He’s wise to my game,” said Natasha grimly. “I’m going to have to play this one tricky.”

“Go back to your girl,” Steve told her gently. “Sleep. I’ll get FRIDAY to keep an eye out for him.”

“How?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m a pretty good artist. And I have an eidetic memory. FRIDAY’s good enough to work with that.”

Natasha nodded and dragged herself back to Karen’s apartment and in through the window. It was only once she got there and realized that Karen wasn’t in that Karen’s warning about having to go find Castle again really sunk in. She’d really done it. She’d really ditched her police guard to go make nice with a killer. And her car was still parked in the apartment garage, so Natasha would need to be at least moderately functional to find her.

Which she really wasn’t. She was tempted to cry with frustration.

Then the harbor exploded.

She bottled the fear, bottled the exhaustion, pulled Interrogator Black Widow on as Avenger Black Widow seemed to be in tatters, and climbed out the window again.

 

Karen looked up from her conversation with Brett to see Natasha walking toward her at a fast pace. She waved, and Natasha tilted her head up slightly in acknowledgement, but didn’t stop until she was standing in front of Karen, checking her over for injuries.

“I’m fine,” Karen told her. “I was nowhere near the boat.” Natasha looked as worn as Karen felt, and Karen guessed she was powering through on raw determination. She gave Karen a look that clearly communicated _you’re standing at the site of an explosion and you’re a danger magnet, I’m going to look you over no matter what you say._

“Karen.” Brett was trying to get her attention again. She hit herself in the forehead.

“Sorry. Where were we?”

He smiled at her, his own exhaustion showing through. “Why don’t you take your girlfriend home? We’ll all sleep, and we can reconvene in the morning.”

It seemed to Karen that Natasha was too still beside her. And she herself was stuck on _girlfriend._

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed. “Eight?”

“Nine,” said Brett. Karen nodded and took Natasha’s hand, leading her away from the scene.

Suddenly, Natasha stopped and cocked her head.

“What?” Karen was instantly on guard.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just Clint,” Natasha assured her. “Just, why…?” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence as a small Jeep bounced down the road and pulled up next to them. “Barton. What are you doing here,” she asked him flatly.

“I’m taking you home,” he answered. “Hop in. You too, Karen.”

“Whose home?” asked Karen.

“Avengers tower,” he answered. “Base is too far away. I’ll watch your back, and maybe this one will get some sleep.” He jerked a thumb at Natasha.

It sounded like as good a plan as any to Karen. Since there was a shooter after her who everybody believed was Frank, but wasn’t, and everyone believed Frank was dead, whether he was or not, she would have no officer support tonight. And it would probably make Natasha feel better. She climbed in, dragging her assassin behind her. Clint drove off without another word.

Karen couldn’t figure out where to look as they entered Avengers Tower. Glass tables, sleek white walls, leather furniture, an Irish voice coming from nowhere saying, “Welcome, Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, Miss Page.”

_Her last name is Romanoff,_ Karen filed away for later. “Thank you,” she called hesitantly.

“FRIDAY, Page, Page, FRIDAY,” said Clint brusquely. 

“Friday?” queried Karen.

“That’d be me, Miss Page. Mr. Stark’s artificial intelligence. I run the Iron Man suit as well as most of Mr. Stark’s buildings.”

“Wow.”

Clint dragged them into an elevator and onto a private floor. It reminded Karen of a hotel room: perfectly nice, and perfectly impersonal. Natasha began to mechanically strip off her outfit. Karen blushed and turned her back, only to be confronted with Clint doing the same.

“There’s spare clothes in the bedroom,” he told her, taking pity. “Grab a set for you and one for Tash.” She walked into the next room and opened a dresser drawer. Pants. She tried again and found nightshirts. Natasha was a good bit shorter than she was, but she found a pink nightie that would fit and slipped it on. Natasha followed her in a moment later, down to bra and underwear, and Karen hurriedly passed her a green one, turning her back before Natasha could pull off her bra. 

The women ended up tucked in bed, and Clint, down to the bottom layer of his tac suit, perched on top of the dresser, playing Candy Crush on his phone.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Karen asked him.

“I’m keeping an eye out so you two can sleep,” he explained. “Tash’ll sleep better that way.” Karen was certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep with him in the room, face lit by the screen, but very soon she was drifting off.

When she woke up, Clint was gone and Natasha was pulling on clothes.

“My lawyer called,” she said without looking around. “I’m going to go meet him.”

“Now?” No, this was terrible timing, there was a conversation to be had, something she needed to say.

“In an hour.”

“Natasha,” Karen blurted, before she had a chance to talk herself out of it. “What are we?” Natasha looked around, and damn, she was gorgeous, and that made Karen even less sure of what she was doing.

“What do you want us to be?”

Karen sighed. “You get a say too, you know.”

“I’m far more flexible than most people, I find,” said Natasha, turning all the way around and bringing a knee up onto the bed. “Friends with benefits I could do. Dropping the benefits and going back to what we were, I could do that too. If you want to date me, I could try that, but you have to know that what you see is what you get. I’m never going to turn into a rom-com character. I’m never going to be a housewife, or a teacher, or an engineer, or someone who’s in town all the time, or even most of the time.”

“First,” Karen said, gnawing on a fingernail, “I damn well better not expect you to turn into someone else for me, that’s stupid and narcissistic. Second, that’s…worryingly flexible, actually.”

Natasha actually shrugged. “That’s another thing that’s not going to change. I wasn’t raised like you were. I have completely different associations with everything ‘normal.’”

“Mmkay.” Karen thought for a moment. “Let’s try this at a more basic angle. Do you have any significant desire to have sex with me?”

“No. But I would. It wouldn’t be unpleasant.”

“I don’t think I want to be just ‘not unpleasant,’” said Karen slowly. “I’m attracted to you, physically, but I’m more comfortable not going there if it’s not something you actively want.”

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone the way other people seem to,” said Natasha bluntly. “Sex has always been a weapon to Red Room girls. Another way to control people. I could do it as something to make you happy, I think, and not to manipulate you, but I can’t divorce it far enough away to make it about pleasure for _me._ ”

“You’re asexual,” Karen realized.

Natasha cocked her head slightly. “I don’t know.”

“We can do research later,” said Karen, and was surprised when Natasha actually laughed a little. “What?”

“I’m starting to think of research as your go-to for anything. Karen Page plus unknown equals research.”

“Isn’t that how everyone works?” Karen shook her head. “Never mind. We weren’t talking about that. Do you actively want to date me?”

“I’m not sure what the difference is between dating and what we’re already doing,” replied Natasha, “not if it isn’t sex.” She looked away and actually fiddled with a seam of her outfit. “I do love you. I’m pretty sure.”

“I love you, too,” said Karen, and, whoa, this might be easier than she thought. “but I don’t think it’s romantic love.”

Natasha looked at her again, but said nothing.

“Frank said something, while we were at that diner, and I started thinking, and—it’s different. It feels different. Not less intense, or less important, but—romantic love is, I love you like a depressive loves hypomania. Like a drug. But you, I love _you_ like a cup of hot tea after a long day freezing with a sore throat.”

“That sounds right,” said Natasha quietly. Karen couldn’t think of anything more to say, so she scooted across the bed and pressed up against her friend. Friend. It didn’t seem like a strong enough word, not something that conveyed how intensely she cared for this woman. 

They sat there like that until Natasha had to go and meet her lawyer.

 

“Angelo Sanchez. Wrongly imprisoned in a base in South Argentina.”

“And they just want me to get him out? I might not even have to kill anybody.”

“That’s right. He’s friends with some highly esteemed folks who have offered you rather a lot of money.”

Natasha took the paper and raised an impressed eyebrow at the figure. “That would make a dent.”

“A sorely needed dent. You have a number of utility bills due.”

“I’ll take it.”


	6. Two of a Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the stuff with Natasha in Argentina is straight out of Black Widow.

_I’m headed to Argentina as soon as I can._

_What? Why?_

_Work._

_Can I see you before you go?_

_Yeah, okay. I’ll be at your place in ten._

“I think we found the Blacksmith,” was the first thing Karen said. “The colonel, the one we got to testify? I went to interview him, and he pulled a gun on me.”

“He did what.” Natasha bled all of the tension out of her face and posture, blanking away any telegraphing, before she realized what she was doing. 

“He’s dead, you don’t need to go murder him or anything. Frank saved me. Again. I really owe him one.”

“No, you need to stop getting yourself into situations where people shoot at you.” Karen bristled.

“That really isn’t your call. I’ve come out all right so far.”

“By luck and friends in high places!” 

“And? I was marked working the Fisk case, I’m marked for Frank’s case, I’m not going to magically stop being in danger unless I hide for the rest of my life, and I’m not going to do that, I’m going to live it.”

“You can’t take care of yourself! You’re going to come home dead, and I won’t be able to save you if you won’t let me!”

“Oh please! You can’t talk!”

“ _I’m_ eighty-odd years old with seventy-five years’ training in mixed martial arts, persuasion, intimidation, and deception, not to mention enhanced strength, speed, and senses. You’re practically a teenager.” She wasn’t winning Karen over, she was doing this all wrong, but she was _afraid_ like cold water in her veins and she just kept talking.

“Oh yeah, you’re big and bad, I get that, I’m not trying to say I could take you. But I’m just in the middle of some gang fights in Hell’s Kitchen and sort-of friends with a really good marksman who happens to have looser morals than a lot of people. What were you in China for? What are you going to Argentina for?”

“I’m going to break a man out of prison,” she said, and that was worse, why was she talking about this with a civilian?

“With what weapons? What backup? Yeah, you’re powered up, but you’re walking into situations that are _impossible_ for anyone else to walk out of alive! It’s proportional! She stopped yelling and glanced away. “I have no way of knowing _you’re_ not going to come home dead.”

“I told you, what you see is what you get. This is what I do.” _This is who I am._ With effort, she pulled herself into some semblance of ‘together.’ “And I don’t have a home.”  
“Why?”

“Because this is the way it has to be. I have to clean out my ledger. And I’m going to miss my flight if I stay here.” She hopped lightly out the window without a backward glance.

Of course, ninjas attacked and Karen found herself prisoner within just a few hours, and all she could think of was _Natasha’s going to be_ pissed.

 

Natasha was infiltrating a prison compound, dressed as a guard. 

“What are you doing? This is my--” babbled Angelo as she pushed him inside his own cell. 

“Quiet,” she said, pulling off her disguise. “You’ll do what I say, Angelo. I’m getting you out of here.” They slipped out of the room under her whispered direction, and emerged onto a balcony above the courtyard.

“How are we getting out?” She allowed herself a small smirk.

“Prisons need my permission to hold me, _amigo._ ”

“Did you bring weapons, at least?”

“The only one I need,” she said, and as she leapt from the balcony and disabled all three guards within one second, she realized she was saying it at least partly to Karen.  
Natasha allowed her senses to flow through the jungle as they ran through it, becoming part of it, making her home there. It was by far the best way to do espionage. The guards caught up in their hurried dash through the jungle, and she put the skill to work, flipping through the trees, calming the wolves, as though she’d grown up in that very jungle.

_It is the unteachable skill to belong anywhere. You must first belong nowhere._

_This is home,_ she told herself. _The work. It always has been. It always must be, to do it well._

They emerged on the other side of the jungle to the welcome sight of a helicopter and her contact.

“Vincente, old friend,” called Angelo, striding towards him.

“ _Lobo blanco, hemos entusiasmo que esperaba,_ ” returned the other. Natasha’s attention caught on the moniker.

_Why do I know this name? The white wolf…_

“ _Señor,_ ” Vincente continued, “The men are--”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Angelo. “Plenty of time to talk about that later. Home first, and let’s get this girl paid! She’s been worth every penny, whatever her price was. _Matador, como nos mismos._ ”

_Killer, like us._

“Doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty, do you?” He turned away from her and exchanged another few words with the contact, and Natasha put the pieces together.

_Lobo Blanco, the butcher of Argentina._

They were going to pay her. She was home free, the job completed, and her bills would be paid, for the next couple of months, anyway.

But this is my house.

She unbuckled her seat belt and twisted into a better position.

“What are you doing?” asked the Butcher, and she answered,

“Some housecleaning.” She grabbed hold of the doorframe of the helicopter and wrapped her legs around his neck. 

 

The Butcher dead and her extraction gone, Natasha caught a bus to her nearest safehouse. Her web. This could be her home, maybe.

She called Isaiah and allowed him to bitch about the money for a few seconds before cutting to the point. It wasn’t about gain. It could never be about gain.

“I need an extraction.”

“And you’ll have one. From SHIELD.”

“SHIELD?”

“You’re needed. They will have details, and they will have a jet for you there in two hours.” 

Hill herself was on the jet when it arrived.

“We believe someone at the Ukrainian Embassy is being targeted. We have very little intel beyond that. So we want you to get in there and find out who the target is, and why. All we have is a decrypted satellite radio communication.” She pulled out her phone and played the message.

“Identify him at the embassy in two days. Take care of it there. We must protect ourselves from chaos—fear it.” Natasha nodded.

“I would like to drop by my apartment first. Get some gear…take care of something.”

“Fine. We’d like you there by tomorrow morning. We’ll stop over.”

Thing was, Natasha did have a home. She always had.

_Home is where the hurt is. That might be the jungle. It might be back on the streets of my birth city. It might be here._

She cleaned up and pulled together a bag before she texted Karen.

_I’m home. But I have to be at the Ukrainian Embassy by morning. I’ll be here for a few more hours if you want._

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed in return, but it wasn’t Karen. It was Steve.

 _FRIDAY found the Scorpion. He’s outside your building._ Natasha grabbed a couple of extra weapons and darted to the door. She was down the stairs of her apartment building when she saw him.

 _Crap._ Right _outside the building._

The Scorpion had a machine rifle trained on her through the glass door to her building.

“Come out, Spider,” he called. She was standing next to an apartment she knew contained civilians. So she walked slowly forward until Interrogator Black Widow could open the door. He adjusted accordingly.

“How did you find me?” she asked, biting her lip nervously.

“Your little girlfriend doesn’t have very good security on her laptop,” he told her.

“How did you find _her_? How did you know she was--” Her voice broke. 

“Tut-tut. And here they told me you were intelligent. Police stations have very good surveillance footage, and quite a number of people wander in under their noses, didn’t you know?”

Widow didn’t have to figure out an answer to that, because a shot rang out, and Iron Scorpion’s face froze. He toppled almost comically to the side, and Karen walked up.  
“I had it covered,” said the Widow.

“I know,” Karen said simply. “But I can afford a little more red in my ledger.” She walked inside the building and Natasha closed the door behind her. They walked at a fast pace back up to her room. Natasha sent off a quick text to Steve.

_Iron Scorpion dead outside my building. And s2g please give Karen a lesson in computer security. And maybe the police too._

_K_

“I got captured,” began Karen when the door was closed. “And I’m telling you because I don’t want to get into the habit of keeping things from you, but I don’t want to hear another rant about it.”

Natasha pulled her close impulsively. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You’re right. I can’t tell you not to lead a dangerous lifestyle when this is who you are, when I’m exactly the same.”

“It’s okay. You worry. I worry too. And I need to be able to handle what you do, too, if I’m going to ask you to handle what I do.” 

“You’re _home,_ ” whispered Natasha, and she supposed it was an explanation of her worry as well, but also—Karen was where the hurt was. Karen, running around and nearly getting killed several times a day. And that was a bad thing for her own survival, Natasha knew, but…

_If anyone can do both, love someone and not let it distract them from the job…it’s me._

They stood there for a minute before Karen spoke again. “Hey. I was doing some googling, and I think I might have found a word that describes, well, us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Queerplatonic.’ Like, not quite what people normally think of as friends, but not romance either, something as important and crucial as a spouse, someone you might want to have spousal privileges, but not someone you are romantically attracted to.”

“Queerplatonic. I like it.”

“So, Natasha Romanoff.” Karen was grinning at her. “Will you be my queerplatonic partner?”

“Yes,” said Natasha simply, and it felt _right_.

 

Natasha was overseas yet again, but Karen felt better about it. Her partner was doing amazing things. She realized suddenly she was daydreaming about Natasha and she still hadn’t typed a word on the document in front of her. She took a deep breath, and titled it.

_What It Means to Be a Hero_

Fin


	7. Bonus Features

Hai.  
Story's over. but it took me a lot of effort and rewrites and thrown out plotlines so I thought I'd share the glory.

So a lot of the plot points came from [this list](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7296766/chapters/16572136), and so did at least one of the scenes that didn't make it in. Enjoy.

[Here is the playlist I listen to for these two.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLomzXQsohX05xilAKdqLSE-6GIWSbuDOt)

Deleted scenes!

Version 1: Karen knows Matt's Daredevil, Black Widow comics do not play into anything, and there is Natasha comforting Wanda and also snow.

“What’s up, Karen?” Reserved’s voice was gentle, not pushing.  
Karen sighed. Her voice came from further inside the office than before, nearer Reserved than Cheerful.  
“I met a woman in Kawfee Haus,” she began, and recapped their conversation. “She won’t even think about legal help. She thinks this is something the law can’t handle.” There was significance in Karen’s words as she finished.  
“And you’re sure it’s not an illness in the family or something?” asked Reserved.  
“Matt, you didn’t see her face,” said Karen. Reserved was Murdock then, leaving Cheerful to be Nelson. “Or, listen to her heartbeat or whatever,” Karen added. Natasha blinked and repeated a question the realtor had answered earlier so she could tune him out completely.  
Mild snickering from both Karen and Murdock.  
“She looked so hopeful for just a moment, like a dream come true, and then like she remembered it’s impossible,” explained Karen.  
“I’ll look into it,” promised Murdock. “Or, listen into it.”  
More snickering.  
Karen thanked Murdock, and Natasha wrapped up her conversation with the frustrated realtor. 

....

“What a startling coincidence,” said Karen, brows raised. “Matt was just in the middle of a rather oddly worded suggestion that you do just that.”  
Natalie grinned at Karen. Sharp, this one. She wasn’t buying it.   
“Hey, do you have bat hearing too?” asked Nelson. “Were you having some freaky conversation through the walls?”  
Surprisingly close to the mark. There wasn’t anyone of below average intelligence in this office, to be sure.  
“Mr. Nelson,” she said, voice teasing, “that’s classified.”

....

Natasha won't say she thought that was the end of it, because Natasha doesn't make assumptions like that, but she also can't say she was expecting Daredevil to turn up at Avengers Base, panting and bloody, and gasp out, "I need a favor. "   
Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, ignoring the lack of effect it had. "What is it?" she decided on.   
"Karen's in danger. I can't protect her and go after the bastard at the same time."   
Natasha pretended to consider it. "I don't have anything better to do," she said.   
Daredevil rattled off an address and was gone in the next heartbeat.   
Natasha took the bike, because she could, and rang the bell for Karen's apartment.   
"Yes?"   
She sounded nervous. She knew she was in danger, then.   
"It's Natalie Rushman," she answered. A beat. Clearly Karen wasn't sure if she was trustworthy. "Matt sent me," she added.   
"Matt sent you?" The door buzzed, and Natalie made her way inside and up the stairs. Karen opened the door, looking haggard and worn. "What did Matt tell you?" she asked, not stepping back to let Natalie in.   
"That he wanted someone to stay with you since he couldn't,” Natalie replied.   
"Why?" She wasn't unaware of the danger, she was testing her. And, well, it did look a bit odd, didn't it?   
"Because I can protect you," said Natasha, allowing Natalie to fall away for a moment. "When Daredevil can't."   
Karen stood aside, and Natalie walked in. Natasha scanned the room automatically.   
"He's known you less than a month and he's told you." Natalie said nothing. "What has he told you about me?"  
"Nothing except you were in danger."  
Karen nodded slowly. "Well. You must really be something." She gestured around. "Can I get you anything?" 

....

"You want to call it a night?" asked Natalie gently. "You can sleep. I'll keep watch."   
"No, we said we're finishing it, so let's finish it." Karen glared. It was adorable.   
"All right," said Natalie, putting her hands in the air. "Just a suggestion." Karen rolled the dice and moved her top hat.   
Someone banged on the door. Both were instantly awake and alert. Natasha crept to the front door and looked through the peephole as the visitor continued to bang. "Go hide in the bedroom, Karen," she said, all deadly efficiency. "Screw that," said Karen, walking into the kitchen and producing a serrated knife. "You might as well let them in, if you don't they'll either break down the door or go find a hostage." She took up a position far enough behind Natasha that she wouldn't be in the way, and Natasha decided to take what she could get. She opened the front door, staying behind it, and slammed it shut again just in time to catch the goon. He stumbled, but didn't fall, and two friends were right on his tail.   
Natasha began to dance. Her world shrank to weak spots and fascia binding, to angles and momentum and _don't let them past_. She stilled, and they were all three unconscious on the floor. Turning, she found Karen, still standing where she'd left her, frozen in shock.  
“Oh my fucking god,” said Karen, slowly lowering the knife. “You’re a superhero.” Natasha made a face.  
“Hardly. Is Daredevil going to want these men, or should I call someone for cleanup?”  
“Probably want them,” said Karen, and sat down on the floor. Natasha crossed the room and knelt by her.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Fine,” said Karen. “A little stressed. Been a rough day.” Natalie quirked a smile. Natasha ran through a mental checklist—color off, but not alarming, breathing within acceptable range, not hysterical—and decided that Karen wasn’t in danger from shock.   
“I’ll put them on the roof,” she decided. “Daredevil can come get them when he’s ready, and they won’t be ruining the décor.” Karen laughed and made to stand. “You should stay here, maybe make us some more tea. You look like you might pass out if you haul criminals up stairs.”  
“Were you planning to enlist my neighbors, then?” said Karen, confused. “Or can you actually lift these suckers?”  
“I can actually lift these suckers.” Karen raised an eyebrow at her. Natasha walked back to the front door and threw, not one, but all three goons over her shoulder.  
“Right,” said Karen weakly.   
“There could always be a second wave, don’t let anyone you don’t know in,” called Natasha as she headed toward the fire escape. She laid the goons out in a neat row on the roof, then pulled a handful of zip ties out of a hidden stash under her shirt. Knocking people unconscious was an inexact science, and she had the time, so why not?  
When the goons were ziptied hand and foot, she climbed back into Karen’s apartment. Karen handed her the suggested cup of tea, and they sat back down by their Monopoly game in silence, drinking the tea and letting the adrenaline drain away. Twenty minutes or so passed before a knocking came from the _window_. Natasha rose onto the balls of her feet, ready to attack, but Karen was utterly unsurprised.  
“It’s Matt,” she said with the exhaustion of someone who has been awaiting their own murder. Natasha relaxed slightly, but still put herself between Karen and the window until she saw Daredevil outside it.   
“Let me in, Ms. Rushman?” said Matt Murdock, and she opened the window for him.   
“Everything’s taken care of,” he told them as he climbed in. “No one’s coming for you now. Everything quiet here?”  
“No, there are three goons ziptied on the roof,” said Natasha, “but they didn’t get very far before I took care of them. They never got near Karen.”  
Murdock somehow managed to convey a startled blink with his eyes covered. “Right,” he said eventually. “I’ll just take care of that, then. Thanks for the help, Ms. Rushman.”

....

Karen had no idea what she was doing. She was exhausted and wired at the same time, which is never good. And asking Natalie to stay and finish the game--Natalie, who she had just watched knock out three trained killers without acquiring a scratch--sounded both very strange and a little flirtatious. 

....

"If Foggy turns out to be a freakishly good martial artist too, I am going to call fraud," said Karen, more or less to herself. Natalie grinned.   
"I don't think so. He certainly doesn't look capable of it."  
"Matt doesn't look capable of murder either," argued Karen, "although that's the blind thing and the puppy dog expression, not the muscles. Also Matt doesn't murder people, just makes them wish he did. Do you murder people?"

....

“Oh god, Foggy, hi, it’s Karen, I’m so sorry, I just woke up, I must have fallen asleep without setting my alarm, I’ll be right over.”  
“Hey hey hey,” said Foggy. “You’re good. You’ve had a stressful night, Matt told me a little. Slow down, get something to eat, hey, why don’t you take the day?”  
“Matt gets beat up and still comes into work,” Karen said nonsensically. Foggy rolled with it.  
“Matt sort of asked for people to try and kill him by stopping their smuggling rings and whatnot. Also he’s used to it, and he’s a martyred Catholic.”  
She caught a “Hey!” on the other end of the line.  
“You are and you know it,” Foggy told Matt. And then, to Karen, “Do the self-care thing for all of us, since this big lump won’t, you’ll probably do yourself more good than if you rush in here fresh out of bed and try to cram in a workday.”  
“All right,” caved Karen. “Tell Matt thanks for calling Natalie.”  
“Will do. Bye.”  
“Bye.”  
She hung up the phone and stared at it a little. She was grateful to Matt for taking offense at the martyred Catholic comment, because she had actually been about to say, “Well, I asked for it by killing a head honcho.” Had sleep deprivation caused her to actually forget they didn’t know? As far as they were concerned, the remnants of Fisk’s gang resented her for her part in getting stuff published as well as knowing she was a way to Daredevil. Which were both true as well, so she sort of hadn’t bothered mentioning the more personal reason.   
Something slotted into place in her brain, and she said “Fuck,” to her silent phone.  
Natalie. She told Natalie.  
Okay, think, she told herself. Natalie hadn’t seemed shocked and horrified, right, about to call the police? And had she said she’d killed people too? It sounded like a hallucination, but Karen vaguely recalled that being why the subject had come up. Honestly, things were a bit fuzzy, and she knew she’d been dreaming at least part of it (unless Matt had actually stayed to discuss the merits of green salsa with them), but where did reality end and dream begin?  
She unlocked her phone again, about to call the office back and demand Natalie’s phone number, which she definitely remembered her giving Matt, just to notice the unopened text. Natasha: _Hey, this is Natalie, I programmed myself into your phone so you could get ahold of me if anything else comes up or you just want to play more board games. It was definitely one of the more interesting evenings I’ve had._  
From Natasha, yet ‘this is Natalie’? Well, she knew Nat—Nat wasn’t the perfectly normal scared wife she thought she’d met at Kawfee Haus. There’d been plenty of hints dropped that she had extra abilities, and Karen had seen the fighting skills for herself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for ‘Natalie Rushman’ to have been an alias. 

....

"You're just this badass super powered gorgeous woman, and I'm..."  
"Also a badass gorgeous woman, though I don't know about superpowers," returned Natasha.

....

"Clint Barton is a human disaster who is easily thwarted by the coffee maker, but mafia he can handle," said Natasha dismissively. Karen made a mental note to mention them to Foggy anyway, in case legal help was warranted. (She'd rather avoid Matt beating up mafia if not necessary.)

....

It was no less fun watching a rom-com. When the male lead fell on his face after trying figure skating shoes, both of them called, "Toepick!" along with the female lead. Karen nibbled her fingers when they got to the competition, and even got teary at the end.   
"What shall we watch on Thursday?" Natasha asked, already thinking about movies Karen would like. Karen's face got sad.   
"Thursday is Thanksgiving," she said. "I'm going to visit my parents in Minneapolis."  
"Oh. Right." Natasha couldn't believe this hadn't occurred to her. People visited family on Thanksgiving, of course Karen would too.  
"Do you not have anywhere to go?" asked Karen in a small voice. Natasha shook her head.   
"All my family died back in the seventies,"

....

"I'd like to unleash Daredevil on the sick fucks that would do that to a child," she said.   
Somehow, that made Natasha feel better than a hundred 'I'm sorry's.   
"What about Clint? Does he have plans?"  
"He won't mind if I tag along," said Natasha, wanting to reassure her. She might go with Clint, she might not, but it was true, she'd be welcome whether she was inconvenient or not.   
As it turned out, Vision called and asked her to come sit with Wanda. Around 5, Karen texted.   
_how are you?  
are you with Clint?  
no, my friend Wanda. her twin died recently and so family holidays aren't much fun for her.   
it's really good of you to be a friend to her. _  
More accurately, Natasha was being a calm, stable mind for Wanda to hang onto while she rode out the pain. But that was close enough.   
_nobody saw it coming, since Thanksgiving was an American holiday, but apparently she got enough gist of the connotations to feel very alone.  
oh, where is she from?  
sokovia, but she's Romani.   
Romanian?  
Romani. you'd know the word as gypsy, but that's a slur. means 'trash'.   
oh wow. I didn't know.   
also sokovia exploded, so that doesn't help.   
that's awful!! _  
On impulse, Natasha texted her a selfie showing Wanda asleep on her chest.   
_poor thing.  
she'll be okay. she's strong. _

After Karen came home, they went on with the routine, which eventually expanded into sharing songs and then YouTube videos, and in January, Natasha somehow agreed to visit Karen's favorite park and get coffee after.   
The morning dawned clear with a foot of snow on the ground. Karen will not admit to squealing with delight. She rushed through her morning routine before pulling on snow clothes, running outside, and twirling around happily, stomping around and ruining all the nearby snow. When she headed out to meet Natasha, she was so early there was no sign of her. On impulse, she flopped down into the snow with a muted wet thunk, sinking a few inches, and just lay there, basking in it. She had meant to make a snow angel, but it hardly seemed worth it when she could just lie here.   
Natasha had been detained slightly by a fallen tree in her path, so when she arrived to the meeting point ever so slightly late and there was no blonde silhouette waiting for her, she was immediately concerned. However, the snow didn’t appear entirely unmarred, so she walked all the way over. Someone was lying in the snow.  
“Karen!” yelled Natasha before she knew what she was doing, running the rest of the way to the body in the snow—that was opening blue eyes and struggling into a seated position.  
“Natasha, hey. I’m fine, I just wanted to lie in the snow.”  
“You are utterly ridiculous,” said Natasha, pulling Karen to her feet and brushing snow off her. She didn’t bother to restrain herself from checking for damage anyway. It wasn’t worth the effort.  
“Hey,” said Karen again, grabbing her searching hands and squeezing them. “I’m _fine_. I’m sorry I scared you.” But she let Natasha be more tactile than usual without another word the rest of the day.  
“I just jumped to the worst conclusion,” said Natasha, pacing. “I didn’t even have a positive ID and I was scared. I don’t understand this.”  
“Well, what does she make you feel when she isn’t scaring you into thinking she’s dead?” asked Clint philosophically from the couch, seemingly unconcerned with Natasha wearing a hole in his floorboards.

Version 2: in which I tried to attach DD:S2 earlier

"Daredevil sent you?" The door buzzed, and Natalie made her way inside and up the stairs. She was met by two police officers.   
"Hold on, ma'am," one of them began, but Karen opened the door, looking haggard and worn, and cut him off. "What did Daredevil tell you?" she asked, not stepping back to let Natalie in.   
"That he wanted someone to stay with you since he couldn't,” Natalie replied. The police officers made distressed noises. Both women ignored them. 

....

"I'd like to unleash Frank on the sick fucks that would do that to a child," she said. 

Versions 3-6 were only plotted out, not written. Version 7 is what you have just read.


End file.
